


the only heaven

by chasingshadows



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Accidental Soul Bonding, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical levels of Violence, M/M, Malex, Post 1x13, canon-typical levels of emotional constipation, cuz i had to ok don't @ me, handprint sex, i really love beagles ok, i was..... really mean to alex in this one y'all, kyle is snarky with everyone and i love him, my communication kink is showing, perceived suicidal ideation, stella is both a matchmaker and a cock block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-11-03 20:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20520668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingshadows/pseuds/chasingshadows
Summary: It didn’t hurt, the mark there. Touching it didn’t pierce through him or shock him; it just felt like something, someone, pulling at him. A constant tug, an anchor rope that led deep inside him and coiled tightly around his core. It felt like being needed and loved and trusted. It felt like Michael.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fraudulentzodiacs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraudulentzodiacs/gifts).

> hozier lyrics ftw
> 
> this is a gift for the lovely [Sarah](https://fraudulentzodiacs.tumblr.com)
> 
> thank you to all my lovely betas who helped me drill this into something coherent <3

The town seemed loud as Michael rolled his truck to a stop at the light next to the gas station, people bustling about, laughing and talking and walking down the sidewalks, spilling out of bars, children running ahead of their parents. The sun was hanging low on the horizon to the west, the sky swathed in oranges and pinks that bled into purples and blues to the east.

Even the sky was loud, vibrant and familiar, tugging at his memory.

It had looked like that three days ago, with Isobel wide-eyed and shaking next to him as he drove his truck slow down the bumpy dirt roads across the desert, careful of his cargo. The blanket he kept in his truck bed had hidden the glow of the pod but Michael had seen Max floating lifeless and still every time his eyes caught on the shape in his rearview mirror. Liz Ortecho and her sister had followed behind him in her blue Subaru rental, and Michael had thought about Alex. How he wished he’d found Alex that morning before everything in his life had gone from bad to worse, wished they’d talked, wished they’d finished the conversation from the night before.

But instead Michael had kissed Maria Deluca and rushed off to follow the pang of empty agony in his chest leading him to Max’s corpse, to a shell-shocked but breathing Rosa Ortecho, to Isobel’s broken tears, to Liz’s practical orders.

“Michael! Finally. In- in my car, there’s a-a box, it’s black and yea big with a handle on the side.” She’d held her hands straight out in front of her, elbows tight against her waist. “It’s on the floor in the backseat, on the uh, the driver’s side - I need you to get it for me.” She’d turned to Isobel, gesturing her towards Max’s body, spread-eagle in the dirt. “Isobel, help me get his clothes off. We need to get him into the pod. Michael, _now_!”

Michael sighed at the red light, absently noting that the price of gas had gone up ten cents since he’d last filled up. If he took a left, he could pull into the Pony’s parking lot and be settled into a glass of whiskey before the exhaustion had a chance to claim him. It was tempting, more tempting than was probably fair considering the unanswered voicemail from Deluca on his phone.

Alex had left him a message, too, the day Max died. Michael hadn’t listened to it yet, but he could already imagine what it said. He could imagine Alex dropping his head back against the headrest in his car, phone held loose in his hand. He could imagine Alex saying he was ready to talk when Michael was, that they had a lot to talk about. He could imagine Alex telling Michael to call him, voice low and emphatic. He could picture how Alex would take a breath then, one of those deep breaths with the long, slow exhale that he’d brought back from his second tour. He could imagine it, could almost _feel_ it, but he hadn’t been able to face it.

Liz Ortecho was an unstoppable force when she set her mind to something. She’d drilled Michael and Isobel on everything that had happened that night, on what went down with Noah, on how Max had been able to do what he’d failed to do ten years ago.

“The storm!” Liz had tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “Max draws on the electromagnetic fields around him when he uses his powers, it’s why lights blow and circuits overload. He’s channeling them.” Pacing around the cave, Liz had gestured wildly at Michael and Isobel where they were sitting on the rock outcrop. “The-the charge around your cells, it’s conductive, but it must also be absorbative. He pulled electromagnetic energy from the storm and held on to it long enough to heal Rosa.”

“What are you saying?”

Liz had met Michael’s eyes, a fierce determination there that he didn’t know at the time had only scratched the surface. “At the Crashdown, when I locked Noah in the freezer, he was able to unlock it to get himself out. That’s your power, Michael. And Isobel, the mind thing, that’s a version of yours. An-and the handprint that he leaves when he kills, it’s the same as Max’s.”

Michael had caught on. “So you think we can heal him?”

“I made something explode.” Isobel had spoken up then, talking to the wall before looking between Michael and Liz. “A picture frame. I broke it with my mind.”

“Yes, good. Good. That means you’re all capable of the other’s powers, which means if we can get you enough energy, you can heal Max, just like he healed Rosa.” She’d taken a breath then, smiling. “You can bring him back.”

“Max channeled a fucking lightening storm, Liz.” Michael had stood then, careful with his left hand as he shoved off the rock in a way he didn’t need to be anymore. “Do you even know how much power that is?”

“A few billion watts, give or take.” She’d shrugged. “So we wait for the next storm.”

Liz Ortecho was practical with a single-minded focus on her goals. They had spent the next three days in a blur of electric shocks, acetone, and vomit. Liz had kept them fed, watered, and on-task.

The light turned green and Michael eased off the brake, wrist limp against the top of the steering wheel as he pressed the gas to roll through town. It was bustling, a lively Sunday evening full of normal people going about their lives. Michael thought of Alex, felt the way the happiness and heartache of him settled deep in his chest, and wondered not for the first time if they might have been one of the clusters of couples and families cluttering the streets had things gone differently when they were 17.

“I shouldn’t have left you behind.”

Ten years Michael had waited to hear those words. Ten years Alex had waited to say them.

Liz Ortecho was not so patient. The forecast had called for storms before the weekend was up and - with the window closing on how long Max could be missing before it would be too hard to explain when he turned back up - Liz had insisted they try. She’d nabbed the spare generator from Max’s house and Michael grabbed one from the salvage yard, and they’d worked on channeling the energy to enhance their abilities. Michael and Isobel had made rapid progress on expanding their power as Liz got more and more comfortable with slicing open her hands or - in one memorable moment hours before the storm rolled in - plunging the knife into her thigh.

It had made them work better together, the way the overlapping handprints covering Liz’s hands connected them. They could sense each other, feel the way the others were feeling, knowing when it was time for a break without having to say it.

In those quiet moments, slumped against the cave walls emptying his stomach and guzzling acetone, Michael had to fight against the memories. He’d never thought about what would happen to a handprint if the person who gave it died, but now he knew. He knew the way it still lingered, a shimmery mark on the palm of his hand, the back of his hand, the side of his neck. Liz wasn’t the only one covered.

He knew now that it would feel empty, hollow, like a grave dug out in his soul that sat unfilled. He knew that every time he caught sight of those glittering colors, or touched the pad of his fingers to that marked skin, he could feel what they’d felt in those moments. His brother’s fear. His mother’s love. He knew that if he tried to follow the thread back to them, it would stop cold, leaving him gasping and alone.

His mind would fall back to that moment of relief collapsed against Alex in the prison, the way he’d felt warm under Michael’s hands and safe against his forehead. The way just touching him and breathing in his breath had soothed Michael’s panic and cleared his head.

Michael hadn’t had time to think about all the details. He’d been going nonstop, running on empty and draining the tank further with every jolt of power and every sip of acetone. He’d let Liz take the lead, dictate the plan, push them until they broke and then push them further. He hadn’t wondered what they would do if it didn’t work. He hadn’t questioned what Alex and Kyle had pulled from the prison. He hadn’t asked about what happened to Rosa.

Isobel had. She’d grown steely-eyed and snarling as they went through round after round of boosting and healing and vomiting and medicating and starting again. She’d asked where Liz had taken Rosa and why Liz wasn’t with her, watching her. She’d poked and prodded and needled Liz about what she’d told her sister and what they were going to do now that she was back.

Liz Ortecho was pragmatic and calm, keeping her mind on what was in front of her and not letting herself get distracted with lesser problems. Rosa was with Kyle, she had explained. They’d told her the truth and they’d deal with how to handle the town when Max was back. And then she’d lifted her shirt and told Isobel she could be useful and heal the cut across Liz’s stomach, or she could continue wasting their time with pointless questions while Max floated stiff and cold in the pod.

The buildings around him grew shorter as Michael passed through the town, turning out into the desert toward the junkyard. The sand and scrub brush spanned the landscape before him, broken only by the musings of foothills in the distance and the jarring shape of the scrapyard rising from the flat. He was _exhausted_. Michael couldn’t remember another time when he’d been so utterly drained. Only hours ago, he’d reached a high he’d never thought possible, but in the wake of that morning’s surge, he was crashing, _hard_. He’d barely gotten any real sleep in days, not since Alex drove into the junkyard four days ago and asked him to go on a roadtrip.

So much had happened since then. Too much. There were so many moments when he thought he couldn’t handle anything else, would collapse and crumble if anything more was piled on. Alex calling him a liar. His mother telling him to run. Noah plunging the broken glass into his neck. Alex again, saying words he needed but couldn’t believe. The sight of Rosa, floating in that pod. Maria pulling back, asking to talk. Max, laid motionless and pale like a fallen warrior. Isobel, falling into his arms and holding on like he was all she had left. Liz, a blur of pain and power as she administered yet another shock to his system.

Somehow, he was still standing, still breathing, still fighting.

He hadn’t anticipated or been able to guess what it would feel like, as Isobel squeezed his hand and they looked up into that storm and claimed it as their own. The small jolts from the generator hadn’t prepared him for the overwhelming feeling of potential. He’d felt indestructible. Unstoppable. Powerful. Michael had felt like a god. Like he could do anything and take anything and change everything. He’d thought of Alex, of that moment in the shed. Of what might have happened that day if Michael had been powerful then.

Liz had made her plan and they followed it through to the end. They did it together, he and Isobel. And it had worked. They’d healed him, brought him back from the dead. Michael couldn’t decide if it was because the plan was good, or because whatever higher power existed had been too afraid of disappointing Liz Ortecho.

She’d pulled Max’s lifeless body from the pod and they’d laid hands on him and brought him back, fingertips touching where they sprawled across his chest, hands warm despite the wetness of the rain. Max had gasped and choked and convulsed to life, violent and loud. It had seemed appropriate to Michael, like it seemed appropriate that he threw himself into Isobel’s arms, clinging to her as surely as she clung to him.

Max had met Michael’s eyes over Izzy’s head and dropped his hand heavily onto Michael’s shoulder, nodding at him once with an intensity in his eyes that Michael had grown to dread in the years since that night. He didn’t dread it now. It had felt right, that little moment, for the three of them.

Liz had said Max’s name and the moment dissipated as quickly as it had arisen.

Michael was _tired_. He was fighting to keep his eyes open and his truck on the road. The junkyard was just ahead, and then he could fall into bed, close his eyes, and sleep until everything stopped hurting. Until he could quiet that dark little voice in his mind wondering why Max got to come back, but his mother didn’t. Until he could forget about stowaways and government conspiracies and all the things that were too big for Michael Guerin to deal with right now.

Michael just wanted to _sleep_, to drift off and lose himself in the haze of foggy dreams that had been haunting the doses of sleep that he’d managed to catch. He could only assume tonight would be the same, could already feel the way the _presence_ of Alex was starting to draw him in, offer him relief. He wanted to soak in it, drown in the memories, and let them block out everything else.

He pulled up to his Airstream, putting his truck in park to the rattle of hubcaps in the wind, and pretended that there wasn’t a part of him hoping Alex was there, waiting for him.

* * *

Life with a dog was more deliberate. Alex couldn’t head straight to the bunker after work; he had to go home first to let Stella out, feed her, play with her. He had to plan his day around what she needed; he couldn’t let himself spend the whole night with his head buried in code, fueled by coffee and fear of the unknown; he had to close up his programs, slip his laptop into its bag, and go home.

Stella was loud, needy, constantly underfoot, and demanding. She was 17 pounds of sassy eyebrows and echoing howls and Alex _adored_ her. He’d walked into the shelter four weeks ago and even without Mimi’s predictions, he’d have picked her. She was six years old, disliked most people, and had a resting frown face, and Alex had known from the moment he saw her that she was going to be his.

“Hey, careful,” he cooed at her as her claws caught against his right shoulder in her attempt to nip at his ear. Alex pulled her over to rest her in the crook of his left arm, mouth pursing as he pressed lightly at where she’d caught.

It didn’t hurt, the mark there. Touching it didn’t pierce through him or shock him; it just felt like something, some_one_, pulling at him. A constant tug, an anchor rope that led deep inside him and coiled tightly around his core. It felt like being needed and loved and trusted. It felt like Michael.

Alex opened the fridge and pulled out a beer, eyeing the multiple containers of take-out leftovers from the Crashdown and the pizza joint in town before deciding he wasn’t hungry and carrying his beer and Stella into the living room. He sat on the couch, tucking Stella against his side and taking a swig of his beer before dropping it on the side table and grabbing his laptop from the coffee table. He’d been spending more nights doing his research from home lately. There was some information he couldn’t access without the weight of military encryptions and direct server access to Project Shepherd’s database.

But there was plenty of information that he _could_.

Stella was a cuddly beagle, far more interested in curling up tight and soft in Alex’s lap than playing fetch. She leaned into his scratches around her ears and licked at his shirt as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

Alex could feel Michael’s exhaustion and he knew it wasn’t his own, but it _felt_ like it could be. He’d woken up before the sun to the feeling of Michael, powerful and ethereal and manic, felt him exude relief and gratefulness and brotherly love, and now, as the sun set, he could feel Michael crashing. He could sense the bone-weary heaviness settle through his body and he wanted to be there, with Michael, tuck his head against his chest and let him drift off with Alex’s arms around him.

It was always the timing with them, ever since the beginning. They’d been doing this dance since high school, a game of tag where there were only ever losers, where the only prize was not being the one left behind.

Alex had been the reigning champion of breaking his own heart over Michael for years before Michael finally told him to fuck off. It was the night before Alex shipped out for his last tour and he still remembered the way Michael had looked him up and down from around the door of that motel room, backlit and beautiful, before asking one question.

“When do you leave?”

He’d hated that he deserved the disappointment in Michael’s eyes, the hurt that lay behind the anger. In the months and years that followed, the regret had crept up on him in the cool nights of the desert, in fields of gunfire, in the arms of other men. He’d wished that he’d been able to find the words to convince Michael to push open the door, to let Alex inside the room and inside his body one last time.

Alex had never been good with words.

Stella bumped her snout up against Alex’s elbow as she adjusted, burrowing deeper against his thigh and he smiled, scratching her head. He reached to take another swig of his beer and typed in his password on his laptop.

The files from Caulfield had been disjointed and incomplete but had contained far more information than what was stored in his father’s bunker. The operation was much larger and more complex than he’d been prepared for, and he and Kyle had been trying to organize it down into more manageable chunks. He thought he’d shut everything down when he’d sent Jesse away, but he’d been wrong. At most, he just took control of his father’s personal office - the rest of the Project had continued operating without interruption and the Master Sergeant was still in charge.

Alex had mostly been focused on the infrastructure of the operation and the smartbomb his brother had mentioned, but there were several other concerning revelations to be found within the harddrives. The footage from the prison - what they’d managed to scrub through so far, at least - contained a lifetime’s worth of observation on what had once been a prison full of alien captives, and experiments and tests that clearly indicated there were attempts to _replicate_ the alien powers in a human. There was also apparently a group of civilian alien hunters that Shepherd had been tracking, a band of reddit nuts run by a lunatic named GiGi who’d made credible claims of having not only encountered living aliens, but found a way to harness their powers - for what purpose, Shepherd didn’t know. If that wasn’t horrifying enough, Alex had found reference to an R&D site which likely held not only the smartbomb prototype, but a whole wealth of alien-based tech, including domestic and interplanetary weapons, galactic navigational software, and the beginnings of rocket engines capable of advanced space travel. It was enough to turn Alex’s head and stomach. Massive government conspiracy indeed.

His top priority was decoding the information on the R&D site, trying to find a location. He thought he might have to call in his old CO if he found anything concrete - as far as he could tell, this entire operation was still being run off the books and against orders. He just needed to be able to prove it.

He was halfway through his third decryption algorithm and his second beer when Kyle called.

“Your dog still doesn’t like me,” Kyle said to start the conversation. “She didn’t stop barking at me the entire time I was there. It’s like she didn’t even appreciate the midday potty break.”

Alex laughed, petting Stella’s head. “She’s just particular about other people. She doesn’t like Liz either.”

“A demon dog, obviously.” Alex shook his head, suppressing the urge to whisper _good girl_ at his sleepy beagle. “Speaking of Liz,” Kyle continued. “They pulled it off. Deputy Evans has returned to the land of the living.”

Alex paused, careful with his words. “Oh? Am I sensing some jealousy there, Valenti?”

“Hardly,” Kyle retorted, but Alex could hear the twist in his mouth. “Just another day in Roswell, where the number of resurrected people matches the number of murdered ones.”

Huffing, Alex set his computer on the coffee table and eased Stella’s head off his thigh and onto the couch so he could stand. “Technically Noah is still missing.”

“Technically, so is your father,” Kyle replied, and Alex sighed. “He’s stable, but we need to figure out a long term solution. I can’t keep snagging drugs from the hospital.”

Alex grabbed another beer from the fridge, popping the top off with the opener on the fridge and taking a drink before responding. “I know.”

Jesse Manes had been in a medically-induced coma for almost four days, kept in a back room of the Project Shepherd bunker, and Alex still wasn’t sure how to process that. He understood its purpose, the need, but he couldn’t decide how he was supposed to _feel _\- relieved? indifferent? angry? The only thing he knew for sure was that at some point, they would have to wake him up. “How much longer can we push it?”

Kyle’s exhale crackled through the line. “Realistically? Three days. Maybe four. But we should probably know what we’re gonna do with him before then.”

Alex nodded to himself. “I’ll figure something out. How’s Rosa?”

At that, Kyle snorted into the phone. “Oh, she’s definitely a teenager. But handling all of this much better than I would have expected, considering. I think she’s just trying to get her footing.”

“A lot’s changed in ten years.” Alex settled back onto the couch, letting Stella crawl fully into his lap, his computer forgotten on the coffee table.

“Not everything. You talk to Guerin since that night?”

Alex frowned. “No. And stop asking.” He reached up unconsciously, rubbing at the mark under the collar of his shirt, feeling the way it lit up under his touch and activated that visceral feeling of Michael, of his desperation. He hadn’t even really felt it in the moment, too distracted, caught up in Michael’s agony, focusing every fiber of his being on trying to soothe him. It had just been the feeling of Michael’s warm palm on his shoulder, gripping at him, leaning on him, _needing_ him. Alex would have given Michael anything he wanted in that moment, whatever he asked. He still would.

Even if what he needed was space. Even if what he needed was time. Even if what he needed was someone else.

That didn’t mean it was easy, getting that call from Maria. That didn’t mean that it didn’t _hurt,_ and that he wasn’t _angry_. He was _furious_, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He was angry with Michael for finally moving on from Alex right as he was ready to try for _real, _for choosing someone else after _everything_ they’d been through. For choosing _her_. He was angry with Maria for knowing what Michael meant to Alex and being selfish anyway.

But mostly he was angry with himself, for getting his hopes up, for letting himself actually believe he could have Michael for real. He’d been foolish to think he was allowed to have what he wanted, that it would ever be that simple or that the world would ever be that kind.

“You can’t avoid him forever.”

Alex took a swig of his beer. “He doesn’t want to see me.” It wasn’t a lie, not really. Alex could feel Michael, he could feel the way Michael wanted him. Loved him. But that meant Michael could feel him, too, and if Michael could feel that and was still choosing to ignore his message? That was all the answer Alex needed.

“Even if that was true, you don’t really have a choice,” Kyle reminded him. “We can’t keep keeping secrets. This affects them, you know.”

Alex let out a sigh, irritated that Kyle couldn’t see the way he was glaring. “I know, Kyle. Just-” Alex cut off, exhaling sharply. “Give me another day, before we bring this to them. Let them rest, and let me… try to find some good news.”

“Okay,” Kyle agreed. “One more day. And Manes?”

“Yeah?”

“Go to bed. You’re cranky when you’re tired. Always have been.”

Alex huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Bye, Kyle. I’ll see you in the morning. And tell Rosa I say hi,” he added.

The phone clattered to the side table and Alex took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. A part of him missed the days in the desert on the other side of the world - things were simple there. Never easy and never safe, but _simple_. The stakes were clear and the choices uncomplicated.

Alex finished his beer and closed his computer. Kyle might be an asshole, but he wasn’t _wrong_. Alex needed sleep, and now that Michael was finally done playing god, he might finally let him. Michael had barely slept since Max died and when he did, it was restless and fitful. Alex wasn’t doing much better - he’d been unable to shut his brain off as he felt Michael hurt himself again and again, a constant rotation of pain and power and nausea and numbness, only finally slipping out of consciousness when Michael let himself do the same.

And yet, Alex took his time, let himself sit with Stella and just _be_ for a few moments before rousing her. He took the bottle to the kitchen, rinsed it out slowly, tossed it in the recycling. Stella sat next to him on the kitchen floor as he hand-washed the dishes he’d let pile up, and then barked happily when he grabbed her leash to take her outside before bed.

He let her pull him all the way around the cabin and then halfway up the drive before he finally picked her up to carry her inside, his leg starting to protest after the long day. The wood of the deck creaked beneath his feet and clattered against Stella’s claws as he stepped across to lock the door to the living room before heading into his bedroom, Stella racing in under his feet and nearly tripping him on her leash. Once unclipped, she jumped up to lick at his face where he crouched before dutifully stepping into her crate for the night. She walked in a circle before laying down to sleep, yipping once before tucking her snout against her belly.

After sliding the lock on the crate door, he pulled his gun from his waistband and set it on the nightstand, changing into a pair of sweats and an old USAF t-shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking more care as he unclipped his prosthetic and removed the sock than was necessary. Rubbing at the stump, he let his fingers dig into the muscles and ease away the tension slowly.

It wasn’t the sleep he was dreading. He knew what awaited him, when he closed his eyes, knew that whatever science or magic connected them would overwhelm him in sleep and fill his dreams with Michael. Memories and fantasies and could have beens, visceral and vibrant and aching - he’d dreamed of warm days spent wrapped in each other and cool nights huddled in the back of Michael’s truck and soft evenings on the couch. It was happy and perfect.

No, it wasn’t the sleep he was dreading; it was the waking up. The cold shock of the morning when reality crashed back in and reminded him that he was alone, that Michael had chosen someone else, and that he would never get to have any of it for real.

But Alex couldn’t put it off forever - didn’t _truly_ want to, even if he knew how it ended. Even in delusion, some of Michael would always be better than none, no matter how much it hurt.

Alex sighed, propping his leg against the nightstand and double-checking that his crutches were in reach on the other side of the bed. Stella was snoozing in her crate, a gentle snore that made Alex smile as he reached for his glock. Alex made sure the safety was on and flipped off the light, slipping the gun under his pillow as he settled under the covers, resting one hand on the grip.

Michael was golden under the sun, curls caught in the breeze and eyes shining in the light. He was the most beautiful Alex had ever seen him and he was looking at Alex that way he always did, the one that cut right through him and left him breathless and hopeful.

* * *

Alex’s hair was softer than it looked, slipping smooth and cool between Michael’s fingers. They were laid out in the back of Michael’s truck, in the bed of his trailer, on the cot in the shed, on a half dozen motel mattresses over the years, but the feeling of Alex remained constant, an anchor in the shifting current of his memories. His lips on Michael’s, tongue sliding against his, fingers roaming and gripping and reaching for Michael, pulling off his t-shirt, pushing off his jacket, pressing up under the hem of his sweater to slide it up his body.

Fingers buried in Michael’s hair, Alex slammed him up against the fridge, the wall, the side of his truck, the bathroom door, stepping into Michael’s space and crushing his body with his own. Michael could feel the heat of him from chest to ankle, could taste the salt of his skin and smell the pine of his body wash.

Alex rolled over, lifting himself overtop Michael, filling Michael’s vision, the edges of him blurred against the changing backgrounds. Alex pressed close, running one hand down Michael’s side slow and soft. He held Michael’s eyes, looking down at him with an expression so vulnerable and in love that Michael let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight in his chest swell. Alex let his hand drift back up Michael’s body, taking his time and smirking as he pulled a noise from Michael’s throat as he thumbed over his nipple. This was his favorite Alex, the one whose eyebrows pressed together in concentration as he finally let go and just let himself _feel_, touch and take and explore every inch of Michael’s skin without shame or haste.

The sun shone bright and hot behind Alex, painting him in a halo of light, a vision against the backdrop of sand and scrub brush. He was wearing a pair of well-worn sweats hung low on his hips and a USAF t-shirt stretched across his chest. He looked out of place, out here in the desert, sleep-soft and barefoot, but Michael could only drink in the sight of him. Their eyes met and Michael was rooted in place by the intensity, by the way the look pierced through him. He swallowed, shaken by the sudden shift, the way the world had gone from swirling and hazy to fixed and clear.

“Alex.”

Michael himself could hear it, the way he said Alex’s name like a prayer, could _feel_ the way Alex shivered at the sound. Alex stepped forward, crossing the distance between them and wrapping his hand hot and firm around the back of Michael’s neck to pull him close. The moment their foreheads touched, Michael’s mouth dropped open on a gasp. In that moment, the only thing Michael could feel was _Alex_, coursing through his veins, pumping through his heart, spreading from that place deep inside of Michael that would always belong to him.

He’d never felt more at peace.

Alex tilted his head, lips pulling at Michael’s and hand sliding up into Michael’s hair, tugging at it gently. Michael closed his eyes, fingers gripping at Alex’s hips to drag him closer.

Nothing mattered more than _this_. Nothing felt like the draw of Alex’s breath from Michael’s lungs and the lick of fire where their skin met. Nothing else settled in his core like it _belonged_. He was the final puzzle piece, the picture of Michael only complete when Alex was in it.

Michael blinked and Alex was beneath him, eyes heady as Michael kissed a line down his chest, one hand braced against the truck bed, the mattress, the couch. Humming, Michael propped his chin against Alex’s ribs and just stared at him, the fringes of his vision shimmering and shifting - a deluge of memories and possibilities fighting for space in the moment.

The world tilted, drawn to a point, sucked down like a vortex into the feeling of _panic_. A loud _pop _echoed in Michael’s ear that faded into the sound of barking and the clatter of metal bars. Another pop, a third. Dark shapes moved in a dark world and he was afraid and angry and confused.

Alex stepped toward him, pulling Michael at the hips, dragging him forward. They were standing in the doorway of a motel, in the junkyard, in a tool shed, in a museum, next to his tailgate in the desert. Alex pulled and Michael followed, sighing into the feeling of being led, of being wanted.

The pain of anxiety settled on Michael’s chest like a weight, making it hard to breathe. He was terrified and grasping, acting on instinct and muscle memory. Everything was loud around him, yelling and stomping and barking and rattling and gunfire, the crash of something large hitting the wooden floor, the shatter of glass.

Alex’s fingers were gentle against Michael’s jaw and he let his mouth drop open at the touch of Alex’s thumb to his lips.

Two more pops and then an empty _click_ and that was worse, Michael knew. Fear rolled into desperation and resignation and then _pain_ as the world went dark.

* * *

Alex didn’t particularly _like_ that he’d woken up tied to inanimate objects enough times that he was able to rank them, but it was somewhat comforting that his current predicament didn’t quite make the top three. Or bottom three, depending on how he looked at it.

He’d roused to an overwhelming feeling of release from Michael, jolting through their connection. It should have felt like the relief, the expulsion of energy radiating from Michael’s body, but Alex could feel only utter despair. Instinctually, he wanted to reach out to Michael, find him, save him from whatever was causing him such pain, but this time, Alex needed to save himself first.

Blinking and drawing in a silent breath, Alex shoved everything he was feeling into a box and set it aside, carefully cataloguing his state and his surroundings.

His head was pounding, a persistent throb originating at his hairline above his right eye where he’d been hit. His muscles were sore where he was able to shift them, particularly those in his shoulders that ached as he tensed them. His stump hung lightly off the chair, but he was otherwise unharmed.

His hands were bound behind his back, the ropes looped through the rungs of the wooden chair; they were tight, but not constricting. The chair he was in was bolted to the floor at one end of a sun-lit warehouse, metal sheeting for walls with evenly-spaced, low-set windows letting in the sun. Based on the angle of the rays catching through the dust-filled air to the concrete floor, he could guess that it was either mid-morning or mid-afternoon.

And he was still in Roswell, judging by the plastic alien statues and UFOs that cluttered along the walls, haphazardly shoved to the side among mostly empty shelving units and tipped over crates. Several of the decorations he recognized from the UFO Emporium and he could only guess that what was here had been rejected in the renovation.

There was at least five feet of empty space between Alex’s chair and the wall behind him, and another fifteen feet in front of him to the twin tables that spanned most of the width of the space, with a gap of about two feet between them. Atop the one to the left sat a three-monitor setup with privacy filters and a shady tech store’s worth of adapters and wires, half of which rested on top of an upside-down crate under the table. Several of the wires were bound together with zip-ties into one bundle that disappeared behind a set of stacked crates to the left.

The table to the right was more concerning, spread with more than enough weapons and ammo to turn heads at the Department of Homeland Security. Four semi-automatic rifles, at least two of which he could see had bump stocks attached, a half dozen hand guns, and an assortment of knives of every shape and size.

At the other end of the warehouse, which spanned about fifty feet end to end, was a door leading to a small office, the windows inside covered in peeling foil or sheet paper, leaving the space darker than the rest of the space. There were boxes piled halfway up the window looking into it, so Alex couldn’t get a good look inside.

There were two exits, a door and a loading-dock slider, set in the metal sheeting side-by-side halfway down the length of the room to Alex’s left.

He wasn’t alone in the warehouse. There were three people seated at the tables and a fourth seated on the floor behind the tech crate that Alex could only see when she shifted, rounded, brunette bangs and ponytail popping up over the table before ducking back down again.

The first at the tables was a white woman, curvy and dressed in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. She was sitting at the computers and, based on the tempo of her typing, was trying to break into something encrypted. Her hair was curled on the ends and blonde, hanging down past her shoulders.

At the table on the right were two white men seated on either side, both with weapons in their hands. The one closest to him was cleaning one of the AK-47s and clearly knew his way around it. He looked ex-military, with a shorn haircut, thick, black steel-toed boots, green t-shirt, and camo pants. He wore a double shoulder holster and a strap around his right thigh that probably held something light like a knife. Even sitting, Alex could see that he was tall, probably 6’2” or 6’3”, and while he wasn’t bulky, Alex could see that he was strong, corded muscles in his arms shifting as he worked the gun.

The man on the other side of the table was spinning a knife around in his right hand, his left caught in a sling. His left shoulder was bandaged and bloody, and Alex felt a curl of satisfaction at having managed to clip one of his attackers in the dark ambush. The man was bald and Alex was pretty sure the tattoo peeking out from underneath the bottom edge of the bandages was a neo-nazi symbol. He was beefier than the other man, broader across the chest, and was sporting a blood-splattered white tank-top and dark jeans.

It wasn’t the most hopeless situation Alex had been in, but it was the first time he’d had to consider his escape options without the ability to run. With nothing in reach to use to cut the ropes, 4:1 odds, and a good 25 feet before Alex could even get to the door - let alone what lay beyond it - Alex’s limited options dwindled down to just one: wait for something to change.

About ten seconds after Alex opened his eyes, an electric buzzing noise coming from where the cords of the computer disappeared intensified sharply before cutting off in a loud _pop_. Both men looked up at the noise and the woman at the computers let out a cry as the lights of the monitors went dark, along with the various blinking indicator lights on her myriad of adapters and drives. She pushed back from the table, chair screeching on the concrete, and stood, ducking down to check the little black and grey boxes on the crate. They were equally unresponsive and she rose, stomping over to where the noise had originated with a whispered, “What the fuck?”

Baldie noticed him then, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing. He didn’t say anything, just dropped the knife onto the table and stood, twisting his hips around the edge of the table to stalk towards Alex, who met his eyes with a calm expression. The others turned to watch him, but made no move to stop him as he moved into Alex’s space. Alex could see his intention in the clench of his fist and the shift of his weight, but having nowhere to go, he had no choice but to take the full force of the blow.

Relaxing his muscles, Alex turned his head with the punch, closing his eyes as the fist connected with the left side of his face and his head jerked to the side. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, not without the leverage of Baldie’s other arm, but it was enough to split Alex’s lip against his teeth and star his vision. The pain in his head intensified another degree and he took a deep breath, resettling the pain behind a carefully constructed wall of composure.

“Hello to you, too,” Alex goaded, looking up at him. Baldie’s nose twisted up in anger and he started to draw his fist back when another voice stopped him.

“That’s enough.” It was the other man that spoke, already turned back to reassembling the rifle, voice monotone and bored. Baldie snarled when Alex raised eyebrows at him but backed away towards the table with a muttered “_prick_.”

So Baldie answered to Bravo, but judging by the latter’s disinterest in Alex, he wasn’t in charge.

Alex tongued at the cut on the left side of his lip, tasting the blood and letting the sting ground him. Blondie had crouched down next to the crate, wiggling a wire sticking out of what Alex could guess was her now-blown circuit breaker, and she paid Alex absolutely no attention. He turned his eyes to the other woman, who had tilted around the edge of the table to look at him. She was slight, thin and short, in a loose, neon-green tank over a black sports bra and a pair of skin-tight back leggings. She gave Alex a once-over, face more curious than malicious, before rolling back to her spot behind the crate. So it wasn’t Bangs either.

“Seriously, what the fuck? The whole system’s fried!” Blondie stood, tossing the wires in her hands to the ground.

“I told you not to overload it.” It was Bangs that spoke, not moving from her spot.

“I _didn’t_ overl-”

A soft _click_ echoed down the length of the warehouse and Blondie cut off, looking up at the office. Alex followed her line of vision to see a tall man come around the corner, dress shoes _clacking_ on the concrete. Alex didn’t react as the recognition filtered through his mind, stalling a moment as he tried to figure out why a dead man was walking toward him before reality caught up and he realized exactly who he was dealing with.

GiGi.

Okay, maybe this _was _top three.

“Something fried the breaker box.” Blondie kicked back on her heel, hips popping to one side and arms crossing over her chest as she frowned at the newcomer.

“Did you overload it?” the man asked patiently, pausing behind the tables to address her.

Blondie’s nose twisted up, pulling at her lips. “_No_, I didn’t fu-”

“Grab the generator from the truck and reroute the cameras and sensors to it.” His voice was light but Blondie glared at him. “Once those are back up, you can go get replacement fuses.”

Blondie sighed but nodded and turned to head out the door. Alex watched her go, catching only a fraction of a second’s glance of the outside before the door banged shut. All he could make out were the edges of some larger crates and the expanse of the desert.

GiGi finally turned his attention to Alex. “Captain Manes, glad to see you’re awake.” He took three steps forward, stopping between the table and leaning his hip against the one on the right. He was better dressed than the rest of them, dark pants, a blue button-up shirt, and a black jacket.

“Graham Green.” Alex licked his lips. “I heard you were in town.”

Graham smiled, slick and amused. “We missed you at the Gala.”

Alex wiggled his shoulders just a little, leaning into the sore muscles to release some of the tension. “I don’t really buy into the whole alien thing, but I’m sure your brother would be proud.”

At that, Graham chuckled, pushing off from the table to step towards Alex. Everyone left inside was watching them, including Bangs who had moved to sit with her arms around her knees between the tables. Alex could feel Michael’s panic flare and he tried not to let himself sink into it at Graham’s next words.

“You don’t need to lie to me, Captain. We know all about your involvement with Project Shepherd. Why do you think you’re here?” He stopped two feet from Alex and crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side.

Alex frowned, brow popping up. “Oh, I don’t know, yanking me out of bed, tying me to a chair - I guess I assumed you wanted me to join your frat.” He paused, glancing over to Baldie and meeting Graham’s eyes with a smile. “Or is this a different kind of brotherhood?”

Rolling his eyes, Graham opened the hand rested atop his bicep to stop Baldie from advancing on Alex again, letting out an exasperated huff through his nose. He ignored Alex’s goading, walking backwards to grab Blondie’s chair as he spoke. “We know the Project is still in operation. We know your father has been running it off the books.” He stepped back to Alex, dropping the chair with a _thud_ three feet from him and sitting down, elbows rested on his knees. Blondie came back inside, pushing a dolly with a medium-sized yellow generator on the base over the lip at the door. “We know he identified at least three adult aliens living free in Roswell.” Alex turned his attention from trying to see out the door back to Graham, feeling his eyes widen slightly. “And that the identities of those aliens is contained only on the server within your father’s bunker here in Roswell. And we know you took over your father’s bunker three months ago.”

Alex let his eyes flick over to Blondie where she was sorting wires and detaching them, laying them out in front of the generator. She caught his gaze and gave him a cocky grin as Graham spoke. _Fuck_, he should have been more careful. He hadn’t anticipated a civilian hacker picking up his trail. He’d been careless, so focused on his father that he’d forgotten there could be another threat. He knew _better_, dammit.

The knowledge of Michael and his family, however, wasn’t something she could have hacked into - Graham was correct that those were local files kept only on Jesse Manes’ personal server in the bunker, and there was no history of them having been duplicated in the archives. The only mention of free aliens that had made it outside of the bunker had been in a briefing Jesse had sent to the personnel at Caulfield, instructing them to prep three cells for containment.

Alex glanced to Bravo, who had finished up with the AK and was in the middle of taking apart one of the Glocks.

“You catch on quick,” Graham commented, giving Alex a satisfied smile.

Alex met his eyes, lips pursed. If Bravo had been involved in the Project, there was no telling exactly what information they had. The Project was highly compartmentalized, each different objective having a separate data bank locked behind a unique encryption, most of which could only be cracked on-site at the host server.

The Project had been tracking this group for almost two years, ever since their leader - known only as GiGi - first started making waves on the alien message boards. GiGi had gathered a small band of alt-right fanatics and convinced them that the _real_ threats to America’s safety were the aliens living among them. Their script was almost identical to the one that the Master Sergeant had tried spouting, the key difference being that GiGi believed they could _harness_ the aliens’ powers for their own use. Exactly how they planned to do that and what they were trying to accomplish had never made it to the message boards. They’d gone dormant in July, quiet on the message boards and with no other discernible activity, they’d dropped to the bottom of the Project’s priority list.

Alex had gotten stonewalled when he’d tried looking into them two days prior and turned his attention to higher priorities, but he could still vividly remember the photos in the file of the body that had been found in a field in southwestern Utah in March. The death certificate had been signed by Dr. Jane Holden, but there was no handprint on the body. There were, however, signs of torture, as well as evidence suggesting the body had been partially dissected.

It was a gruesome murder and GiGi’s group had appeared to take credit, claiming to have found an alien and only failed to unlock the secret to their powers because “the creature died during the extraction process.”

And now they were after Michael and his family.

Graham grinned. “So, Captain. Let’s chat.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The voicemail from Alex was still there on the screen, time-stamped four days ago. He swallowed, sucking on his teeth as he tried to come up with another excuse to avoid it, to keep pushing Alex away even as every fiber of his being seemed to be screaming at him to seek him out. He’d spent three days half out of his mind with pain and power and grief, and still, in every quiet moment, all he could think about was Alex. It wasn’t fair, the way Alex had crept into his soul and staked a claim, twisted his way into the space inside Michael that felt calm and loved.
> 
> He’d even said the words. _I loved you_. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what Michael wanted. It was past tense. It was a lie.
> 
> Michael sighed, clicking into the voicemail and pressing play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this turned into a beast and a half and is like, three weeks late (whoops), but I'm actually really super proud of this story so I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Many thanks again to my betas and cheerleaders, you're all rockstars and this story wouldn't have happened without you ::kiss::
> 
> Also fyi I will likely be combining these chapters into one in the next couple weeks cause this is really more of a one-shot story than a chaptered fic, so if you hop in to find a chapter missing, that's why.
> 
> PLEASE note the new rating/warnings!

Michael squinted his eyes against the light, dropping a hand over his eyes. He groaned as the pressure in his bladder went from annoying to insistent, and he rolled out of the cot, left hand catching on the wall to push himself to his feet.

Once he’d relieved himself, he buttoned back up and stepped toward the fridge, opening it and frowning at the lack of beer. Instead, he grabbed a cup from the cupboard and turned around to the sink, filling it and draining it twice before dropping it on the counter and dropping himself into the chair.

He rubbed at his face, exhaling sharply from his mouth. The last four days had passed in a blur and the only way Michael was sure it had all happened was the way he could _feel_ Max and Liz inside of him, tugging at him, pulling on his emotions.

He was just glad he’d managed to sleep through their _reunion_, even if he hadn’t slept _well_.

Michael frowned, stress rising in his throat as he remembered the way he’d gasped awake in the middle of the night. It had felt so real, the fear and confusion, the sounds of gunfire, the pain exploding in his head. The other visions from his dreams slipped from his grasp like oil the more he tried to chase them, but the feeling of Alex, terrified and fighting for his life, felt tangible enough to hold.

Shaking his head, Michael stood, trying to swallow past the lump in his chest. It had been months since Michael’d had a nightmare like that, one filled with visions of Alex gunned down and screaming. They’d haunted him for years, every time Alex shipped back out to the deserts on the other side of the world; he’d just never had one while Alex was stateside.

Michael grabbed his phone from where he’d dropped it on the counter on his way to bed the night before, glancing at his notifications.

The voicemail from Alex was still there on the screen, time-stamped four days ago. He swallowed, sucking on his teeth as he tried to come up with another excuse to avoid it, to keep pushing Alex away even as every fiber of his being seemed to be screaming at him to seek him out. He’d spent three days half out of his mind with pain and power and grief, and still, in every quiet moment, all he could think about was Alex. It wasn’t fair, the way Alex had crept into his soul and staked a claim, twisted his way into the space inside Michael that felt calm and loved.

He’d even said the words. _I loved you_. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what Michael wanted. It was past tense. It was a lie.

Michael sighed, clicking into the voicemail and pressing play.

“_Hey Guerin. I - uh. I’m ready to talk when you are. We - we have a lot to talk about, not just-. Just. Call me.”_

Michael let out a shaky breath. The sound of Alex’s voice sent his heart thrumming, pulled the air from his lungs, and filled his chest like a balloon, like he could choke on it. That edge of stress fought against the way Alex’s voice washed through him, cool and clean and soothing.

Michael pressed the call button. He didn’t know what he was going to say or how he was going to explain or if he should be apologizing or yelling; all he knew was that he needed to talk to Alex. He needed to talk to him _now_.

That creeping, panicky fear was still there, hovering around the edges of his calm. He needed to hear Alex’s voice, knew it would quiet the nagging feeling in his chest that lingered from his dream. The phone rang once, twice. The fifth ring rolled out long and monotone and then Alex’s voice was in his ear and Michael’s stomach dropped.

He hung up the phone, dropping it on the counter and pushing out through the Airstream door into the junkyard, cool air hitting stinging his skin. He took a deep breath, letting the icy air fill his lungs and ground him. Something felt wrong. Alex wasn’t answering his phone and something was wrong and it didn’t make any sense that he would feel that way - Alex had ignored plenty of Michael’s calls over the years, but this was different. It was different and Michael didn’t know why.

_God_, he just couldn’t get Alex out of his head. He should be thinking about Max, about Rosa. Wondering how they were going to explain his disappearance, her reappearance. Dealing with how to balance the pull and tug of Max and Liz outside the context of that cave. Worrying about how Isobel was going to cope without Noah. Trying to figure out how to move forward with Maria or if he even wanted to. Mourning the loss of his mother. Sorting through the mess of accepting that dozens, maybe hundreds, of his own kind had spent seventy years in isolation and torture and he’d never known and he’d failed to save them.

But that, all of that, it just _hurt_. It was too much, and, in a way he hadn’t since they were seventeen and innocent, Alex offered a feeling of relief and peace that Michael was becoming addicted to.

Michael sighed, looking up to see the sun shining from just over his hubcap gazebo. It was early still, and he could feel that Max and Liz were fine, drowsy and content. Isobel had never been afraid to text him if she needed him. Michael didn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do.

He wanted to see Alex. He always did, but now it felt like he _needed_ it and he was out of excuses.

Alex was staying in Jim Valenti’s old hunting cabin, well outside the bounds of Roswell, deep into the scrublands and edging up on the sparsely-treed foothills. He’d told Michael about it with regret in his voice as he rolled his pants down over his prosthetic and started to head for the door, not looking back as he ducked out of the Airstream and left Michael cold and alone after another evening lost in the heat of each other.

Michael showered, filled his tank, and drove out into the desert, fingers drumming on the steering wheel to the beat of the thrumming in his chest. The closer he got, the more the dread settled in his belly and the more he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going _the wrong way_, but the _need_ to see Alex didn’t fade so he kept his foot on the gas and continued down the road.

Alex’s truck was in the drive but Michael knew he wasn’t there as soon as he hit the driveway, knew before that as he bounced along the dirt road off the highway. He put his truck in park behind Alex’s and got out, eyebrows scrunching as he made sense of the noise coming from the cabin.

Barking.

Michael felt the panic shoot hot and painful down his throat and into his belly. He knew that noise. He-

Michael’s face scrunched up against the sounds of gunfire, the way the blackness settled in, a flash of memory unstoppable in its force. The barking echoed, two overlapping howls, one here and one-

He stumbled forward with Alex’s name on his lips, and rounded the front of Alex’s truck. The cabin was a solid, looming presence against the blue of the sky. His eyes followed the sound of the barking and caught on the billow of a navy blue curtain through a shattered window, on the rectangle of black of a door left ajar.

_No_.

No, it wasn’t _real_.

Michael ran, tripping up the steps and bursting into the room, door blowing back with a slam from where it hung half open on its hinges. This was the bedroom and Michael looked around frantically, trying to deny what he was seeing.

A beagle in a cage, paws and claws scratching at the metal bars with a rattle, barking at him, howling, high-pitched and shrieking. The bed in the middle of the room was empty, covers half thrown to the floor. A set of crutches was tipped into the closet on the other side of the bed, one braced against the back wall and the other against the door. To his left was a splatter of blood across the wall, a line of droplets soaking into the wood and rug leading out the door and down the steps, several smeared with footprints. The nightstand was knocked over to his right, lamp on its side on the floor, Alex’s prosthetic horizontal against the carpet. There was a small, round hole that splintered on the outside of the door and another cracking the wood of the wall beneath the broken window.

Alex wasn’t here. He knew Alex wasn’t here and there was blood and bullet holes and the barking cries of a beagle, and he _knew_ what happened. He’d lived it. In the dark, the shouts of intruders, the panic, the shatter of glass, and the pain as everything went quiet.

But that wasn’t possible. It was a _dream_. It had to be a dream.

Michael looked around himself, trying to breathe. It wasn’t a dream. He was standing in it, in the reality that everything he’d seen, everything he’d heard in his sleep was _real._

Michael spun around, hands clenching. It wasn’t - it shouldn’t be _possible_. And if it _was_, that meant-

Alex had been taken. Someone _took_ him. Michael mouth twisted up in a snarl of rage and a force of power burst from him toward the wall, shattering the glass of the window above the bed and shoving the frame back several inches along the wall. The dog whimpered and ducked down in her cage and Michael felt the whoosh of regret that always followed his outbursts, dropping back on his heel with a sigh.

It was Jesse Manes. It had to be. Revenge for the prison or an attempt to lure Michael or just another sick, psychotic ploy to punish Alex for being gay. Michael was going to kill him, he was going to-

He tried to take a breath, felt the way it caught up and got stuck in his chest. It started low, the well of buzzing under his skin, the ringing in his ears, the swell of tension pushing at him. Michael shook his head, trying to shake away from the feeling, but it only grew, building and screaming at him that Alex was in trouble, that he was _hurt_.

Michael couldn’t hold it back, this gnawing power inside him. It wanted to consume and destroy and _take_. It was feeding off Michael’s panic and rage and it ached to _hurt_ Jesse Manes.

It was too much. Michael rubbed at his face as he turned and fumbled down the stairs and out of the bedroom, trying to pull in air, trying to calm the chaos swirling in his mind as the energy grew and expanded inside of him.

Michael fell to his knees in the dirt, arms wrapping around his midsection, curling in on himself as he tried to hold it all in - the fury, the terror, the desperation. It grew until he was groaning with the effort of holding it back, until he could feel or think of nothing but the power.

Michael’s hands hit the ground, grasping at the dirt and grass, head pressed into the earth, his whole body _rolling_ with the strain of suppressing the wave of power surging through him. Everything hurt, every cell in his body was screaming in pain and he was screaming and-

The energy exploded from him, shooting outward, his hands burning with the heat of it. Michael collapsed, strained muscles dropping as he took in gasping breaths, all of the pain and tension and power just - _gone_.

Michael could only breathe, muscles shaking in the wake of his release. He could feel the streaks of tears on his cheek stinging in the cold breeze and he sniffed, shoving up and resting back on his heels.

“_Fuck_.”

A chiming sound rang out from somewhere behind him - a phone. _Alex’s _phone. Someone was calling him and knowing Jesse, that was exactly the kind of twisted stunt he’d pull to taunt Michael. Michael hauled himself to his feet and jogged back into the cabin, dropping onto all fours and reaching under the bed for the phone. He kneeled, sighing in disappointment as he looked at the screen.

Kyle Valenti’s face stared back at him and he was half a second from clicking “Decline” when he remembered that Kyle had been the one to grab the drives from the prison. While Michael had been in the backseat trying not to make the truck explode with his mind, Kyle and Alex had made plans to review the drives together. They’d been working together - if anyone knew where Jesse was holding Alex, it was Kyle Valenti.

Michael clicked “Accept”. “Where is Jesse Manes?”

“Wha- Guerin?”

“Yes, Valenti, answer the question.”

“Wha- why are you answering Alex’s phone?” Kyle made a noise. “Wait, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Michael scoffed, irritated. “He’s gone, Valenti. Someone came here and took him and you need to-”

“What? What do you mean someone _took _him?”

“Dammit, Valenti. He was taken, kidnapped. I am standing in his cabin and there’s blood and bullet holes and _you really need to answer my fucking question_.”

“Shit.” Kyle blew out a breath. “_Shit_. It wasn’t Jesse, it can’t have been.”

“You don’t know him like I do, it was hi-” Michael cut off with a hiss as a rush of pain washed through him.

_Alex_.

It was Alex, he _knew_ it. Michael dropped his hand against the wall to hold himself upright, realization crashing in.

They were connected, he and Alex, bound together; they had to be. Michael had marked him.

But that wasn’t possible - he hadn’t seen Alex in days, hadn’t _touched_ him in weeks, months.

Except - that wasn’t right. There was that moment, in the prison, his mother’s words ringing in his ears louder even than the sirens. He’d collapsed into Alex’s arms and immediately felt a rush of relief, a soothing comfort that cleansed away the pain and turmoil. Michael had felt _centered_, anchored in Alex’s grasp.

It wasn’t the same as the way Max and Liz were weighing in his chest, tugging at his essence. Alex just felt like this _presence_, emanating from within him, filling him, quieting the entropy. It was all-consuming, overwhelming now that he knew it was there.

The memories, the dreams, the sudden shifts in his thoughts - Michael was feeling Alex in real time, feeling what he was feeling, all of the confusion and fear and pain.

Michael was feeling Alex getting _hurt_.

But if he was hurt, he was _alive_. And if he was alive, Michael could save him.

“Guerin? You there?

“I can find him,” Michael said aloud, more to himself than the voice on the other side of the phone.

“What, how?”

“Shut up, Valenti.” Michael dropped the phone onto the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and searching inside himself, following the thread. He could find Alex, just like he used to find Max when they were kids and Max healed the wounds on his arms, the cuts on his face, the marks on his back - he just had to concentrate.

Michael caught onto the tether of Alex like an anchor and let it drag him through the chaos on his mind and pull him toward the other end, toward Alex. It was like trying to follow a light in a storm, and Michael blocked out everything around him, the sounds of Alex’s dog clawing at her cage, the sound of Valenti shouting through the phone, the whistle of wind in the trees - he shut it all down and focused on Alex. He let himself be surrounded by the essence of him, drowning in it, until he could feel it _click_ into shape.

North of town. Out past the Long Farm. Alex was there, he was _sure_ of it.

There was a warehouse out that way, Isobel had complained about the drive while she was planning the Gala. It had been emptied of the decorations and displays two weeks ago; it was the perfect place to hold a hostage.

Jesse Manes had never been a stupid man, just a cruel one. There was no telling what kind of arsenal he had or how many people, but looking at the scene around him and knowing Alex, this wasn’t a one-man job. Not by far.

Valenti was still screaming at him from the phone on the bed, but Michael was already on his feet, jumping over the steps and running across the grass to his truck. Alex’s dog let out a long, mournful howl and Michael made her a silent promise that he would make sure Alex came back to her.

Whatever it took, no matter what it cost - Michael would make sure that Alex came back.

* * *

“Chatting,” it turned out, had mostly consisted of Graham asking for a name, Alex telling him to fuck off in progressively less eloquent ways, and Baldie punching Alex. He ran out of witty replies around the fifth or sixth time the fist collided with his stomach, making him wretch, straining at the muscles in his arms where they were locked behind his back.

Alex had a carefully curated process for dealing with repetitive pain, for compartmentalizing the sensation and setting it aside until he was in a space to deal with it. It was something he’d gotten good at long before he enlisted, but the Air Force had taken his technique born of desperation and drilled it down into a finely-tuned skill. With every blow, Alex leaned into the heat of the pain, let it burn long enough to keep him grounded before filing it away in a catalogue of injuries he would need to check in on when he got a break.

“We can do this all day, Captain.” Graham braced his hands against his knees and stood, dropping a hand on Baldie’s shoulder where he was shaking out his fist. “The how is up to you, but it’s going to end with you telling me what I want to know.”

“Or a body bag,” Baldie said, smiling menacingly at Alex.

“Oh, that’s civilized. And here I thought Neanderthals still ate their dead.”

Baldie’s smile dropped into a snarl and he reared back, throwing his full weight behind his fist. The bolts anchoring the chair to the floor were all that kept Alex upright as Baldie’s fist connected with his face with enough force to whip his head around. He heard more than felt the _crack_ of his neck in the wake of a blossom of pain that exploded out from his cheek to ring throughout his skull and shoot down his spine. Alex felt the edges of his vision go black and he had to fight to stay conscious, spitting out the blood filling his mouth and licking his lips before he rolled his neck and looked back up at his captors.

“_Ah_, fuck!” Baldie was rotating his shoulders, right hand pressed against the bandage on his left shoulder as he hopped away from Alex, turning back towards the tables. Bravo had gotten up - revealing a small cluster of what looked to be smoke bombs on the table behind where he was sitting - and gone into the office, phone to his ear. Blondie was still over at the wall, seated cross-legged between the generator and the circuit breaker stripping and splicing wires. Bangs had returned to her seat behind the crate, but twisted around at Baldie’s exclamation. “I think I ripped my stitches.”

“Idiot,” Bangs blew out on a breath, rolling to her feet, lithe like a dancer. She was shorter than Baldie by several inches, but still reached up when he neared the table to put her hand on his shoulder and shove him down into the seat. She straddled the other chair facing him and began pulling at the bandages, swatting at Baldie’s hand when he reached up.

Alex sucked at his teeth where they still bled, the coppery taste a momentary distraction from the pounding in his head. Graham was frowning at Baldie and Alex gave him a wry look.

“I can recommend a great dog trainer.”

Graham half-turned, nose twisted up in an aborted snarl, before deciding better of acknowledging Alex and stalking off towards the office.

In the moment of relative respite, Alex checked in with himself, giving his shoulders a wiggle. His arms were beyond sore and edging into agonizing if he paid them too much attention. He was rather certain he had a concussion from the blow that had knocked him out that morning and the successive headshots from Baldie couldn’t have helped. While he hadn’t broken anything yet, his abdomen was sure to be lit with bruising like it hadn’t been since he’d lived with his father. He was tired, thirsty, and no closer to coming up with an escape plan than he had been when he’d awoken.

Nothing had changed - he was alone, immobile, and with no backup coming. Kyle would notice his absence at the bunker, but he had no way to track Alex nor any way to guess who was actually holding him. Graham might be a lunatic, but Alex knew the type: he fully believed his own lies and would be ruthless in his pursuit of what he wanted. Which, in this case, was something Alex would never give him.

Alex knew he would need to accept that this might be a situation he wasn’t going to make it out of.

The thought was sobering and Alex let himself sink, for just a moment, into the feeling of Michael in his chest, into the tug of him, into the way he could _feel_ how much Michael loved him. Alex had told him he wanted to fight for him and he would; he _was_. He just hoped Michael would be able to forgive what it might cost him.

Graham came out of the office, Bravo following behind, and Alex flipped the switch, shutting out all the pain, the heartbreak. Graham wasn’t looking at him as he moved across the warehouse, instead glancing between his team with a mildly disappointed look on his face. He’d reached the tables, Bravo splitting off to examine the rows of knives spread across the weapons table, when a phone started ringing, echoing across the walls. Graham stopped, reaching in his pocket and frowning when he glanced at the screen.

He turned to Bravo. “I have to take this, try not to let him do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He gave a pointed glance toward Baldie and ignored Alex before turning and walking back into the office, letting the door swing closed over the sound of an annoyed, “What do you got?”

Bravo seemed to pay him no attention, selecting a long, serrated knife from the collection and holding it to the light. Bangs had undressed Baldie’s shoulder on the other side of the table and was glaring at him while she pulled the remains of the ripped stitches from the oozing wound, an open first-aid kit settled on the floor at her feet. He seemed to have finally been cowed under her fingers, staring down at the table but not saying anything.

Blondie stood then, drawing Alex’s eyes to the other side of the room. She was looking right at him with a wicked grin on her face - almost predatory - and Alex had to suppress a roll of his eyes. She ducked into one of the open crates on the floor next to her and pulled out a bottle of water, twisting the top off and taking a swig as she walked toward him. He swallowed, mouth dry, and just watched her as she came close, stopping a foot away.

“Thirsty?” she said, smile friendly and deceptively innocent. He could hear the double meaning in her words and dutifully let his eyes wander down across the V-neck of her top before meeting her eyes with a nod. He _was_ thirsty, and was far better at this game than Blondie.

She grinned, dropping one hand onto the arm of Alex’s chair and bending over him in an exaggerated gesture that had Alex suppressing another eyeroll, and then brought the water bottle to Alex’s lips. The water wasn’t cool, but it was refreshing, clearing away the last traces of copper from his tongue and settling hollow in his empty stomach. Blondie kept her eyes on his as she tilted the bottle slowly, allowing Alex to drain most of it before he pulled off to breathe. She bent lower, hand reaching to drop onto Alex’s thigh, when a voice behind her interrupted.

“You know he’s gay, right?”

Blondie startled, twisting around, and Alex rolled his head to the side, looking around Blondie at Bangs. She wasn’t looking at them, looked as bored as she had the whole time Alex had been here, but Baldie glanced over at them with a satisfied smirk on his face. Blondie turned back to Alex, eyebrows scrunched in question, and he just shrugged one shoulder in apology. She scoffed, turning around and marching back over to her desk, dropping the bottle onto it and hitting a couple of buttons to click on the computers, which whirred to life.

The door to the office opened with a creak and Graham stepped back out. He looked over to Blondie as they moved across the space.

“How long until the sensors are back up?”

She kept her eyes on the screens, fingers quick across the keyboard. “Ten minutes, give or take.”

“Make it five.” He turned his attention to Bravo. “Oh, put that down.”

Bravo frowned, but set the knife on the table, following Graham between the tables as he approached Alex. Graham dropped into the chair he’d left sitting in front of Alex and Bravo moved closer, flanking Alex to his left.

Graham clapped his hands together, rubbing his hands and smiling at Alex. “Alright, Captain, new game. We-”

The door to the warehouse blew open and figure stepped in, hand outstretched, and Alex’s heart skipped.

_Michael_.

“Alex!” he shouted as he stepped closer, stopping short when he met Alex’s eyes.

He looked ethereal, curls haloed in the light of the open door, a shimmer of color across his neck, and Alex forgot, for a split second, where they were. All he could do was stare; Michael was _beautiful_, eyes bright as they locked with Alex’s, and he felt it like a physical weight, the way their connection flared. He could feel Michael’s love, his panic. His fury.

Then Michael’s eyes flicked to the left and Bravo was thrown back, slamming against the wall behind Alex in a clatter of metal, and the moment was broken. The rest of the team sprung into motion and Alex tore his eyes from Michael to assess the situation. Something had finally _changed_, but along with it so had his priorities - he now had someone else to consider, a civilian to _protect_ \- his number one objective was getting Michael out of here alive.

Alex tested the ropes around his wrists again, finding no give as he tried to track everything around him. There were four bodies between him and Michael and a fifth behind Alex. In the space of one breath, Blondie launched herself across the space, rolling up next to the ammunitions table, she and Baldie reaching for guns. He could hear Bravo stirring behind him and Graham had dropped from the chair to the ground, eyes wide on Michael, but Alex focused on Bangs, who had reached for one of the smoke bombs from where she ducked on the floor under the table and was pulling the tab.

The table went flying into the wall on the Alex’s right, showering the crates and shelves piled there with guns, knives, and bullets, and leaving Bangs, Blondie, and Baldie exposed. All three moved to duck behind the weapons-laden crates and the sound of gunfire split through the warehouse - Blondie and Baldie had opened fire - and Michael’s eyes narrowed, pulled tight at the edges, and his nose flared in concentration. Alex shouted for him to _move_ but he just stood there and Alex could only watch, growing terrified and then confused as he watched the bullets bounce off the floor like they’d hit an invisible wall.

Michael was stopping them.

A clattering roll dragged Alex’s eyes downward to a hiss of yellow smoke and he felt the pain erupt in his shoulders, struggling against his bonds as he realized what was about to happen.

“Guerin, the smoke!”

At the same time, Graham’s voice boomed through the warehouse from somewhere to Alex’s right. “_Stop shooting_, you _idiots_! Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth to us alive?!”

The cannister rolled to a stop at Michael’s feet and he finally glanced down, eyes going wide in the brief moment of silence before the little hiss of smoke exploded, shooting billowing yellow smoke upward into Michael’s face. He stumbled back against the wall, arm covering his mouth as his body wracked with coughs. He squinted his eyes through the haze and the still-sputtering cannister went flying across to the other end of the warehouse, sliding to a stop in the corner on the opposite side of the office door.

The damage was done and Michael continued coughing, bracing himself up with one arm on the wall. He held an arm out toward the trio of captors to Alex’s right, but nothing happened, and Alex could feel Michael’s panic, his desperation. He was powerless and he needed to get out of there, _now_.

“Guerin,” he pleaded. “_Run_.”

Baldie stood from his crouch and Alex could only watch in horror as he began stalking towards where Michael had dropped onto one knee, body shaking with the force of his coughs. Michael finally glanced up as Baldie approached him and drew his free hand around his back, returning with a silver revolver that he aimed at Baldie, thumb pulling the firing pin back. Alex’s chest ached with the realization that Michael wasn’t going to leave, that he was going to try to fight these people and he was going to get himself killed - or worse, _captured_ \- and Alex could do nothing but watch.

Michael took a deep breath and shoved himself to his feet as Baldie took a step back, hands up and eyes on the revolver. A shuffle from behind Alex was the only warning he got before he felt the warm press of a gun against the right side of his head and the heavy pressure of a hand dropping against his left shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle. He recoiled, holding very still and keeping his eyes on Michael.

“Stop, stop, everyone just _stop_.” Graham stood up, inching towards Alex and out of the line of fire of Michael’s gun.

Michael looked at Alex and his nostrils flared and Alex felt a flash of Michael’s horror as he took in Bravo behind him. Michael whispered Alex’s name on a breath and the revolver twitched in his hand. Bravo nudged his gun against Alex’s head, making him tilt with it, eyes never leaving Michael.

“You shoot, I blow his brains out,” Bravo said, voice calm and clear. It wasn’t an empty threat - they knew Michael was an alien; Alex had become expendable the moment Michael used his powers.

Michael swallowed, glancing to Graham, eyebrows pinching together slightly in thought. As he looked back to Alex, Alex realized what he’d heard Graham say before the bomb went off - what _Michael_ had heard him say - and he panicked, pulling forward against Bravo’s hold.

“_No_!”

Michael pulled the gun back, bending at the elbow - and time froze. The breath rushed from Alex’s lungs and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. All that existed, all that mattered, all that he could _do_ was stare at the scene before him: Michael, backlit against the open door, a haze of dust and particles swirling around him, eyes wet with unshed tears, and the end of his revolver disappearing into golden curls against the side of his head. Alex was paralyzed - with fear, with horror, with panic - as Michael stared back at him, holding his gaze, face quivering. Michael tilted his head just a little, eyebrows twitching ever-so-slightly as he swallowed - and Alex could _feel_ it, the way it was an apology. The way it was _goodbye_. Then he dropped his eyes and turned from Alex to Graham, face going hard as the moment crashed.

“You want me alive?” he asked, voice even and firm despite the anxiety Alex could feel from him. “You let him go, and you can have me.”

“_Michael_!” Alex screamed, chest ripping open on the word. “No!!”

Michael’s chest dropped as he exhaled shakily at Alex’s exclamation, but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge him, eyes on Graham. Alex’s gaze was fixed on him, incapable of turning away from the horrific sight, but he saw Graham point toward him from the corner of his eye. “Shut him up,” he ordered.

Bravo’s broad hand wrapped around Alex’s mouth, cutting off another plea, two fingers sliding underneath his jaw to clamp it shut. Alex shook his head to get free, tried to wrench his jaw open, but his muscles were weak from the repeated blows and Bravo held fast, pressing the gun even harder against Alex’s temple. Alex could feel the tears pricking at his eyes, as much from anger as terror, and he huffed over the top of Bravo’s finger against his lip.

“Michael, is it?” Graham addressed Michael, stepping forward.

Baldie took a step toward Michael and Michael flinched back, hand clenching around the handle of the gun, finger inching toward the trigger. Alex froze, a whimper of fear escaping his throat.

“Get the _fuck _away from it, you _moron_,” Graham snarled, and Alex _seethed_, anger lashing through him at the dehumanizing language. Baldie clenched his fist but stepped back towards the other wall, keeping his eyes on Michael. He was still bleeding from the half-sewn bullet wound in his shoulder, arm still caught in a sling. Alex was cataloguing weaknesses in his mind, trying to find anything he could exploit - Baldie’s injury, the crates Blondie and Bangs were ducked behind, Bravo’s grip on him, the mess of weapons scattered to his right - _anything_. But there was nothing. Bravo was standing back just far enough that Alex couldn’t reach his thighs with his bound hands, the other three goons had weapons in hand, and Graham was stepping toward Michael with his hands out, palms forward.

There was nothing Alex could do. Nothing he could _say_. Nothing. Michael was going to sacrifice himself - shoot himself or give himself over to be tortured and murdered - and Alex was being forced to _watch_. It was the shed all over again and the vision of Michael in front of him was starting to swim through the hopeless tears in Alex’s eyes. He tried to reach Michael, tried to scream through their connection for Michael to _run_, but Michael’s jaw just twitched and he blinked, breathing heavy.

“Let him go,” Michael demanded again, glancing over at where Bravo held Alex before turning back to glare at Graham. “I’m serious, I’ll pull this trigger, and I get the feeling you don’t want that to happen.”

Alex shouted, muffled under Bravo’s hand, and Michael pressed his lips together, jaw clenching, but kept his eyes on Graham.

“Easy, Michael, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stop, jus- shut up. You,” Michael looked over at them, eyes flicking to Alex’s for only a brief second before glaring at Bravo. “Cut him loose.” When no one moved, Michael looked back to Graham, shouting, “_Now_!”

Graham looked between Michael and Alex, lips pursed and brow furrowed. He gave Alex a once-over, eyes pausing on Alex’s missing limb, before he looked to Bravo over Alex’s head and nodded.

Bravo stepped forward, pulling Alex’s head back to his stomach to pin him and keep him silenced, unaffected by Alex’s struggles as he holstered the gun and reached down to pull the knife from his thigh sheath, working it against the ropes binding him to the chair, carefully out of reach of Alex’s hands.

Graham took another step toward Michael and Michael backed toward the door, pressing the gun at a higher angle. “Get back.” He glanced around at the three figures behind Graham who had started to move away from the walls. “All of you, get back.”

Nodding, Graham stepped back, gesturing for the others to do the same. “Alright, Michael, calm down.”

Alex felt his hands come loose of the chair, still bound at the wrists, and Bravo moved quick, resheathing the knife and stepping his leg out of range while pressing the gun back against Alex’s head. Alex’s shoulders _burned_ at the release of pressure, and he almost tried to stand, right leg catching on air when he tensed.

Graham chucked his chin at Bravo, who finally released Alex’s mouth in favor of taking the gun in his left hand. Before Alex could get a word out, Bravo was hauling Alex up, fingers wrapped tightly around Alex’s upper arm, holding almost all of his weight. Alex’s entire body lit up in a flare of pain, from his head to his arms to his entire torso, and he hissed, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as he worked to suppress the agony. Bravo dragged him a step forward before he’d managed it, and he had to hop to get his leg back under him, every nerve in his body spasming with the impact of his foot against the concrete.

Michael was watching him when he opened his eyes, and Alex saw the moment that Michael finally comprehended that Alex wasn’t going to make it out of this warehouse on his own, the way his eyelids fluttered and his lips trembled. He suddenly looked seventeen, terrified and desperate on the floor of the shed as Alex’s father dragged Alex away by his hair. He looked like he was in way over his head and had no idea how to dig himself out.

“_Alex_.” Michael breathed it out, pleaded it like he was just begging for an answer.

Alex was beaten, bloody, and disabled. There was no walking out of this for him, but Michael - Michael could make it out.

“Guerin, you have to _go_.”

The line of Michael’s brow twitched and Graham stepped forward, drawing his attention. “Michael, you know what happens if you try to leave.”

To accent the point, Bravo raised the gun in his hand and pressed it back against Alex’s head on the left side.

Michael shook his head, curls shaking, fingers tightening around the grip of his gun. “No. Me for him. That’s the deal.”

“_Dammit_, Guerin!”

Alex shook his head. No. He wasn’t letting this happen. If Michael wanted to make a suicide play, so would he.

“Run!” he yelled, and then he buckled his knee, dropping in Bravo’s hold just enough that he was able to get his fingers around the shaft of Bravo’s knife. In one motion, he pulled it from its sheath and plunged it into the back of Bravo’s leg, twisting out of the fireline of the gun.

Several things happened at once. Michael shouted Alex’s name. Alex fell to his knee. Bravo howled. There was a flash of shadow behind one of the crates outside. Alex’s head exploded in pain from a blow that sent him crumbling to the floor, his vision going black and his consciousness fading.

Michael screamed.

A gun discharged.

The world went quiet.

* * *

“How does he look?”

“How do you think he looks?” Michael stared down at Alex’s head in his lap in the backseat of Kyle Valenti’s car, threading his fingers through Alex’s hair. His other hand was clasped firmly around Alex’s against Alex’s chest, the cotton of his USAF t-shirt soft against Michael’s skin.

Michael couldn’t help but flash back to that moment under the sun. He wasn’t even sure it was _real_ but he could _see_ it, could _feel_ it. Alex before him, bathed in the golden light, warm and happy and glowing in his USAF t-shirt and worn gray sweats.

Michael looked down at him now; there was blood everywhere. Dried and sticky on his forehead, wet and tacky near the crown of his head, soaking into his pant leg, crusting in lesions on his face and jaw. His skin was ashen and already splotched with bruising, the shirt rucking up over his abdomen to reveal even more.

“Just answer the question, Guerin.”

“He looks like shit, he was being fucking tortured.”

“Is he still bleeding?”

“No,” Michael said, exhaling heavily. “I think it stopped.”

“Can’t you like - you know, heal him or whatever?”

“Don’t you think if I could, that I’d have done that already?”

Kyle reached into the center console, popping it open and tossing a bottle of acetone into the back of the car where it fell onto the floor. “That’s all I got.”

“That’s not gonna help, asshole.” Michael glared at Kyle in the rearview mirror, despite that he’d already looked back at the road. He reached for the bottle anyway, tugging it from the tangle of ropes he’d removed from Alex’s wrists. “They had some kind of smoke bomb, it was the same shit Noah used. Knocked out my powers.”

“How long until they’re back?”

“I don’t know, Valenti.” Michael twisted off the cap, taking a swig of the liquid, cool on his tongue. “I’m not exactly an expert in alien suppression technology.” He took another long drink. “Ask your friend Liz.”

“I thought _you _were the super genius.”

Michael bit back a growl, looking out at the desert as he twisted the cap back on the empty bottle. “Where are we going?”

“The cabin.” Kyle flicked his eyes back up to the mirror, catching Michael’s. “Though I’m debating locking _you_ in the psych ward.”

Michael scowled and looked away. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t know if I think you’re fit to make that call, Guerin.”

“Just drive the fucking car, Valenti.”

Michael dropped his head back against the headrest, exhaling and letting his eyes drift shut. He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to find himself stuck in a car with Kyle fucking Valenti _again_ in less than a week.

He wasn’t sure what happened at all; it was all too fast. Or maybe it was just the way time stopped when Alex crumpled to the floor, unconscious and bleeding. He’d been aware of things happening around him, shouting and gunfire, banging and crashing, but it all felt like he was experiencing it at a distance, from the other end of a tunnel, like the world hollowed out and all that was left was Alex’s body on that floor.

He remembered the gun flying from his hand. He remembered being shoved to the ground. He remembered familiar voices yelling his name in anger. He remembered the cold feeling of the concrete against his arms and belly as he dragged himself across the floor to Alex.

A hand had grabbed him and he’d thrown a punch that caught only air. “For fuck’s sake, Guerin,” Valenti’s voice had hissed in his ear. “Get up and help me.”

They’d half-carried, half-dragged Alex out of the warehouse and into the light. He’d only managed to tear his eyes from Alex’s lifeless face as they tilted out the door, catching a glimpse of the scene behind him. Max and Isobel had stood side by side in the middle of the room, right arms outstretched, eyes lit with power and fury above the edges of white surgical masks. The world seemed to shiver around them and then Michael had been pulled through the door.

“Who were those people?”

Michael sighed. “I thought it was Jesse.”

“I _told_ you it wasn-”

“Green. Gran- _Graham_. Graham Green.” Michael shook his head, closing his eyes a moment before opening them again. “I don’t know who the others were.”

“Graham _Green_? What would he- _shit_.”

Kyle’s phone rang and he cursed again, answering it. Michael tuned it out, focusing only on the feeling of Alex in his chest, the beat of his heart under his hand, the rise of his chest. That he could _feel_ Alex, feel his presence, his _essence_, was all that was keeping the panic at bay. He was unconscious, bloody, and bruised, but he was _alive_. Michael’s hand shook as he gently pet across Alex’s hairline and across his head, careful of the various cuts and contusions.

When they got to the cabin, Kyle and Michael carried Alex up into the bedroom to the chorus of cries and howls from Alex’s beagle - Stella, according to Kyle - and lay him on the bed. Kyle dropped next to his head and started pulling on a pair of gloves Michael had to assume he pulled from thin air. Alex was pale and still against the sheets; the only signs of life were the gentle, shallow rise of his chest and the thrum of him in under Michael’s skin.

“Would you make yourself useful and take her out?” Kyle said, pawing through Alex’s hair where he’d been struck. “Her leash should be over there somewhere.” He waved a hand toward the wall, not looking up as he pressed around the edges of the wound.

Michael sniffed, caught between wanting to shove Kyle aside so he could hold Alex, and knowing that until his powers came back, Kyle was the best person to be tending him. He sucked on his teeth and stepped across the room toward the cage, grabbing the leash from where it was bundled on the dresser. Stella’s yips increased in volume as he approached, claws rattling down the bars as she scratched at the wall of the cage. He could smell the urine from the wet spot in the opposite corner of the empty food and water bowls and he felt a tug of sympathy for her.

Ducking down, he slid the lock open and blocked her body as she tried to dart past him. His fingers caught on her collar as he clipped the leash and she struggled in his hold, trying to pull herself from his grip with piercing, frantic whines.

“Alright, Stella, you’re alright.” He ran his hand from her head all the way down her body and she paused to lick at his knee, the jeans going damp against his skin, before tugging against the leash again. “Good girl, you’re alright.”

Leash in hand, Michael stood out of her way, but instead of bolting for the open door, Stella immediately jumped up on the bed, pulling Michael forward a step when she ran up to Alex’s face and licked at it gently through a steady stream of whines. Michael’s heart _thumped_ in his chest at the sight.

Kyle grumbled when she growled at him as he tried to tilt Alex’s head to get a better look at the wound at his hairline, and Michael gathered her in his arms and dropped into the chair in the corner of the room, letting her settle in his lap. She made a noise of protest and tugged to get away and back onto the bed, but when he held on, she finally settled with her head on her paws against his knee, staring at Alex.

Michael stared, too. He stared as Kyle Valenti poked and prodded Alex’s lifeless body, waving a light above his forced-open eye, checking his pulse. He had to swallow the disgust when Kyle lifted his shirt, revealing a nasty spread of red and purple bruising across Alex’s stomach and ribs. Even Kyle had to take a moment to release a long exhale, glancing back at Michael with a clenched jaw, before he started checking for breakage and swelling.

“Of course she likes you,” Kyle grumbled as he stood a few minutes later. Michael didn’t look up from Alex, scratching behind Stella’s ears. Kyle pulled off the gloves with a _snap_, moving around the cabin, picking things up and righting overturned furniture, but Michael kept his eyes on the slow rise and fall of Alex’s chest.

“Max and Isobel are cleaning up.”

Michael did look up at him then. Kyle raised his brow at the acknowledgement. “Isobel’s gonna do her mind-warp thing and Max is gonna deal with the paperwork. You any closer to making him look _not_ like tenderized meat?”

Michael scowled at him, but sighed and squeezed his eyebrows together, pressing outward. He could feel the shape of Stella on his lap, feel the rug covering the floor, the tangle of sheets and blankets flowing from the bed, the open cage door swung out into the room. He concentrated and _pulled_, tried to catch the edge of the metal rungs and close the door.

It moved about an inch and stopped and the nausea swirled in Michael’s stomach.

“I can do it, I just nee-” He stood abruptly at a thought, Stella jumping off his leg at the last second to hop up on the bed. Michael dropped her leash and was out the door.

A minute later he returned, ignoring Kyle’s protests when Michael pushed him out of the way, body buzzing with the electricity he’d pulled from the circuit breaker. He dropped on the floor next to the bed, placing one hand over Alex’s head and the other over his stomach. Stella licked at his hand and he took a breath, closed his eyes, and _pushed_.

Michael’s hands lit up in red, a current of heat flowing from him to Alex. He yelled with it, head thrown back as he _poured_ every ounce of himself into healing Alex’s wounds, easing the contusions on his head, soothing away the bruising on his torso, knitting together the cuts on his lips. He pushed until he had nothing left.

He pushed until Kyle _pulled_, dragging him away with an exasperated, “Guerin, Jesus Christ! You have to _stop_.”

Michael’s hands wrapped around the wastebasket that was shoved against his sternum and he _heaved_, emptying his stomach in a sick retch that shook his whole body. He took gasping breaths, the blackness edging across his vision. He tried to fight it, to push back, but it fought harder, filling his lungs and bones, consuming him in darkness. Michael swayed, dropping the basket and collapsing against the floor to the sound of a gasp and Kyle shouting his name.

* * *

“Kyle,” Alex warned. “Back off. I’m fine.” He looked up to glare at where Kyle was radiating nervous energy, standing right next to him as he fastened the prosthetic to his sock with a _click_.

“You were a half-step from _dead_ not ten minutes ago.”

“And now I’m not.”

“Would you at least let me che-”

“No.” Alex pulled the pant leg of his sweats down over his leg as Stella licked at his hand. He patted her head, scratching behind her ear the way she liked, before standing and looking around the room. His eyes immediately went to where Kyle had deposited Michael on the bloodstained bed. He was unconscious and pale, but he was breathing, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Kyle had looked him over, said that he seemed fine by human standards at least, and that Max and Isobel might be able to tell them more when they arrived. He’d passed Alex his crutches and then tried to pretend he wasn’t hovering.

Alex could feel the taste of Michael in his chest, a solid presence that seemed to be growing stronger by the second, but he couldn’t help but feel the rush of anxiety at seeing him lying motionless on the bed. He couldn’t help the flash of memory that played through his mind, the horror of what might’ve been, what he’d believed - in the panicked seconds before the world went dark - _had_ been. He remembered the sound of Michael’s scream. The sound of gunfire. It’d almost felt like a dream, like something dredged up from Alex’s worst nightmares, but it had been real and now he couldn’t unsee it, lingering before his eyes like a light stared at too long.

“Alex!”

He turned to Kyle, who raised his eyebrows at Alex. “You haven’t taken your meds today, have you?”

Alex glared at him, tilting his head. “Ya know, I was just a little busy actually. It must have slipped my mind.”

Kyle shook his head, stepping around where Stella was glaring at him from her squat next to Alex’s ankle. He grumbled to himself as he stepped out the door. “You check out on me again and I’ll lock you _both-_” The rest of the sentence was lost to the _grunt_ of the door closing behind him and Alex heard him hop the steps to the main cabin and head inside.

Sighing, Alex looked back to Michael, giving in to the urge to step closer, to drop his fingers into the curl of Michael’s palm against the mattress. He needed to reassure himself that Michael was _here_ and _alive_ and _safe._ His hand was warm, always so warm, and the contact made the feeling in his chest swell, but the touch did little to soothe Alex’s panic. He was still swimming with adrenaline, stuck between moments, caught between passing out with the image of Michael holding that gun and gasping awake in time to see him collapse.

Their timing always had been shit.

The door to the bedroom opened and Stella erupted, barking angrily at where Kyle stood with a glass of water in one hand and the handle of Alex’s backpack clasped in the other. Alex pulled his hand from Michael’s and picked her up, hushing her gently before rolling his eyes at Kyle.

“The twins are coming up the road.” He set the backpack next to the night stand and the glass of water on top of it, sliding it from the edge to push away the bits of broken glass from the blown lightbulb. “I’m gonna call Liz and give her an update.”

“Shouldn’t that be his job?” Alex mused, eyebrow quirked. Kyle scowled and went back out the open door, closing it behind him. Alex took a deep breath, appreciating the privacy that was likely the real reason for Kyle’s phone call. Stella wriggled in his arms, and he kissed the side of her head, putting her down before she could begin licking at the blood still crusted all over his face. He needed a shower. He needed coffee.

He needed to take his meds.

Alex grabbed the backpack and fished out his pills, taking his morning dosage and washing it down with the water. Stella started barking at the door and Alex let his eyes sweep over where Michael lay still and quiet on the bed. He wanted to sit on the bed and take Michael’s hand in his. He wanted to card his fingers through Michael’s curls and lay his head against his chest so he could hear his heartbeat. He wanted to _scream_ at him for being so careless with own life, for making Alex have to wonder what it would be like to _feel_ him die while they were still connected.

A car door closed and Alex inhaled and exhaled slowly, ducking to grab Stella’s leash where it had been trailing behind her, and followed Kyle out to greet the Evans twins.

Max and Isobel Evans were walking up the drive, both tall and long-legged. It was almost noon, the sun high in the sky casting warm light across the winter-sparse trees and dull green grass. There were three vehicles behind where they were coming up alongside Alex’s truck. He recognized the BMW as Kyle’s and the old Chevy as Michael’s, and had to assume the green Jeep belonged to Max.

Max tipped his head in acknowledgment toward where Alex was joining Kyle on his lawn, and Isobel was stalking forward with a wicked look in her eye as she sized them up. Stella tugged on the end of her leash, barking at them, so Alex gathered her back up in his arms.

He knew he looked like shit, still in his bloody clothes, with more blood drying all over his face and neck. The back of his left pant leg and both hands were splattered in red from where he’d stabbed Bravo. He didn’t like the aesthetic, didn’t like looking _weak_, but he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, watching them as they approached.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him. Look, I gotta go, Liz. We’ll talk later.” Kyle hung up the phone, shoving it in his pocket with a look at Alex before turning to the twins.

“Was that Liz?”

Kyle rolled his eyes right into a nod directed at Max. “Yeah, she says she’s gonna kick your ass for leaving her behind. So, good luck with that.”

Max opened his mouth, but Isobel cut him off, crossing her arms. “Where’s our brother?”

“Inside.” Alex tilted his head toward the bedroom. “He’s resting.” Isobel was already moving, concern starting to break through the cultivated hostility in her expression.

“He passed out after healing Alex,” Kyle called, loud enough that Isobel would hear him as she climbed the steps. “I think he wore himself out, but all of his vitals are stable.”

“I told you we were coming.” Alex and Kyle both turned back to Max. “Why did you let him do that?”

“Do you really think I could have stopped him?” Kyle raised his eyebrows. “Especially after what we walked in on.”

“How _did _you walk in on that” Alex cut in, as much out of curiosity as to change the subject. He looked between Kyle and Max. “How did you know where we were?”

In answer, Max tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, pulling it down to reveal a shimmer of color. “Michael healed me yesterday, so we’re connected until it wears off.” Isobel’s heels clicked on the wooden steps as she came back out of the bedroom, sending a nod to Max. He released the shirt and sent a pointed look at Alex. “Question is, how did _he_ find _you_?”

Alex pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He debated a moment before deciding truth was going to be easier than evasion. “The same way.” Isobel quirked an eyebrow at him, and he could see Kyle drawing back in surprise to his right, but Alex didn’t elaborate, keeping his eyes on Max.

He tilted his head. “What are you two tangled up in?”

“That had nothing to do with him.”

Isobel shook her head. “I find that hard to believe, considering when we walked in, he had a gun to his own head.”

Alex blinked, licking at his lips, taking a slow breath, trying to fight off the image. He focused in on where Michael felt warm and safe in his chest, right next to his heart. It was starting to feel like less of a tug and more of a soothing calm. He shook his head. “He wasn’t supposed to be there. I was handling it.”

“Handling it? You were unconscious when we walked in,” Isobel scoffed, at the same time as Max’s, “I’m gonna need a bit more information than that, Manes,” he said, tone slipping into Deputy Evans. Isobel sighed, pushing out her lips and falling back against her hip, letting Max continue. “I appreciate that you want to keep this all confidential, but I got Graham Green and three unidentified perps-”

“Wait, three?” Alex interrupted. Max nodded. “There were four other people there.”

Isobel and Max shared a look. “There were only three that we saw,” Max said cautiously. “Two men and a woman.”

“Blonde?” Alex asked, adjusting Stella as she wriggled in his arms. Max and Isobel nodded. Alex shook his head, licking at his lips. “There was another woman, smaller, brunette. Where are the others?”

“Back of the truck,” Max answered, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. “They’ll be out a few hours.”

Alex drew back in surprise. “Wha- What are you planning to do with them?”

“That’s what I’m here to figure out. Who are these people, Manes?” Max tilted his head forward, touching his teeth to his bottom lip. “Does this have anything to do with your father being in a coma?”

Alex frowned and looked over at Kyle, who shrugged. “I told you we were gonna have to tell them sooner or later.”

Sighing, Alex tossed his head toward the cabin. “Inside.”

Kyle started toward the door, followed by the twins. Alex stepped back up to the bedroom door, taking a moment to look over Michael on the bed and swallow back the unease crawling up from his stomach before pulling the door closed.

An hour later, Max Evans pushed away from Alex’s kitchen table with a grunt. Isobel stood far more gracefully, sliding out of the chair in an elegant arc. Stella growled softly from Alex’s lap before he eased her to the floor so he could walk them out. He was _exhausted_, and more than ready to stop talking about all of this. Kyle remained seated, finishing his beer.

“So, Isobel convinces them to forget everything they know about aliens and confess to kidnapping _me_. And I’ll bring them into the station with a brilliant excuse for where I’ve been the last four days and why my house looks like a crime scene.”

“Deputy Evans heroically takes down local terrorist cell with one hand tied behind his back,” Kyle mocked into his bottle before taking a drink. “Do we at least get to hit you to make it look real?”

Max gave him a look but didn’t answer.

“I need her computers.” Everyone looked at Alex. “I need to know what they were working on and what they’d found.”

“I told you.”

It was Isobel’s turn to get a _look_ from Max. “We’ve got her computer, and all her fancy gadgets. They’re in my Jeep.” Alex glanced over to Isobel, more than a little impressed. She grinned back. He decided he liked her.

She turned to her brother. “I’ll need more power before I can wipe their memories like that. And probably a lot of acetone.”

“I know.” Max turned to Kyle. “Valenti, you should go have a look at the soldier, he lost a lot of blood.” He looked toward Alex. “You’re lucky you didn’t hit his artery. You could’ve killed him.”

Alex just raised his eyebrows, unashamed. He wouldn’t have been the first, and certainly not the least deserving.

“I’ll get my kit.” Kyle finally stood, grimacing when Stella barked at him. He looked right at Alex and just shook his head. “All I do for her.” Alex rolled his eyes, snorting softly.

Max started moving for the door. “We can take Michael back to Isobel’s.”

The thought sent a bolt of panic through Alex and he shook his head. “He’s fine here.”

Everyone turned to him again. His skin prickled at the scrutiny, at the knowledge that everyone here now had at least some idea of what Michael and Alex were to each other. _Had been_, he corrected himself, remembering the bitter taste of knowing that Michael had chosen someone else. The anxiety of being open about something he’d kept hidden for so long burned like nausea in his stomach but he swallowed it down, speaking with authority. “He needs rest and he’s not gonna get that bouncing down my road. Just leave his truck.”

The twins stared at him a moment longer and then turned toward each other, sharing a loaded look as they paused at the door, and Alex got the distinct impression that they were speaking to each other. He glanced over to Kyle, who just shrugged.

“I’d say you get used to it, but that would be a lie.” He opened the door and headed out, brushing past Max and closing the door before Stella could sneak out.

The twins finally turned back to Alex. “The perps are in his truck bed.”

“So move them.”

They exchanged another look and Isobel shrugged.

Outside, Isobel helped Alex bring the computer inside while Max and Kyle loaded the four bound and unconscious alien hunters into the back of Kyle’s car to a stream of complaints from the latter.

“You better have something spectacular planned for my birthday, Manes,” he called as he closed the hatch of his trunk.

Alex nodded from where he was leaned against the doorway to his bedroom. Isobel was inside, leaving a bottle of acetone from Max’s Jeep on the nightstand. Alex tried not to watch as she ran a shaky hand over his curls and pressed a kiss to his forehead, but it was impossible not to see how much she loved him, how affected she was by what she’d seen that day. Alex let that feed the anger, the fury at Michael for what he’d done, what he’d put them all through.

Looking away, Alex turned his eyes to where Max was hovering in the yard. He’d stepped inside the bedroom long enough to sigh and shake his head before heading back out to explain to Kyle that he’d be transporting the criminals back into town. Alex thought he understood; he had a hard time looking at Michael right now, too. It was easier to focus on something else than to let that image settle before his eyes, the fear from that moment creeping back in and stealing his breath.

It was easier to be angry.

“I’m only allowing this because we all have work to do and I know you’ll take care of him.”

Alex turned to look at Isobel just inside the door. “But.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But if I ever have to see anything like that again, I will scramble your brain and leave you on the side of the road in Michigan.” Her tone was serious and her posture intentionally hard - Alex knew it wasn’t an empty threat.

He nodded, jaw tensing at the thought that anything like that could _ever_ happen again. He didn’t think he’d survive it, was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to. “Promise?”

Isobel softened slightly and a satisfied smirk slipped across her lips. She glanced back to her brother before meeting Alex’s eyes. “He thinks you’re worth all this.” She paused, looking between Alex’s eyes as if searching for something. “My brother isn’t right about much, but I hope he’s right about that.”

With that, she nodded, not waiting for a response as she slipped past Alex and made her way across the yard.

After everyone had left, their trucks rumbling down the long dirt road to his cabin, Alex took a deep breath, exhaling slowly the way they’d taught him after the ambush during his second tour. Stella was whining at the door to the living room. There was a computer inside waiting for him to decrypt, full of things he already knew he didn’t want to know. He needed a shower. He needed coffee.

Alex twisted his head around to look back inside the bedroom, let his eyes linger on the slow rise and fall of Michael’s chest. Alex’s heart clenched around the memory, seared across his mind like a brand.

It was easier to be angry.

* * *

The world blinked back into focus in a glare of sunlight and the sound of a dog barking. Michael squinted, turning his head away from the light and exhaling. When he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the open closet of Alex’s bedroom, the pair of crutches still fallen against the door.

Michael sat up, looking around the small room. He was alone, the door closed, the blown-out window letting in a light breeze and the rays of the late-afternoon sun.

Alex was close though, he could feel it. It was stronger than it had been before, the tug and pull of Alex, the way he settled in Michael’s chest like a physical weight. It was still different than the way he felt Max and Liz, deeper. Their presence sat distinct, contained within him, like he could set them aside and ignore them, but Alex was loud within him. Alex was all-encompassing, spread through his veins and pulsing out from his heart.

Michael swallowed, swinging his legs out of the bed, wincing at the way it made his body _ache_, the way his stomach swirled. He narrowed his eyes at the nightstand, noticing the bottle of acetone sitting there among the scatter of broken glass. Twisting off the cap, Michael downed it in seconds, letting it wash through his body with a chill, numbing the pain, killing the nausea. He dropped the bottle back on the nightstand and heaved to his feet.

Alex was close and Michael needed to see him, needed to see that it _worked_, that he was whole and alive and okay.

He followed the sound of barking, louder as he opened the door to the bedroom and dropped down the steps, climbing up onto the porch. The windows of the cabin’s main room glowed a flickering orange, stronger and brighter in the left window. There was a chill in the air and Michael shook his shoulders, rubbing his hands together and ignoring the way the dried blood there made the motion tacky. He looked to the side, taking a deep breath.

Alex was on the other side of the door; he knew that, and he knew Alex could feel him, too. He could feel Alex’s apprehension and dread. He could feel his love and the lingering taste of his fear.

Mostly, he could feel Alex’s anger, and he took another breath before twisting the knob to push open the door.

Stella was on him the moment he stepped inside, jumping at his leg in excitement. Alex wasn’t in sight and Michael closed the door, dropping into a crouch to scratch at her head. The room was small but warm, fireplace crackling to his left. The furniture looked old and worn, and if Michael knew Alex at all, the animal heads and photos had belonged to Jim. Michael ran his hand down Stella’s wriggling body to pat her butt, rub over her hip as she panted happily. She licked at his hands and pant legs, and Michael had to suppress the urge to flinch back as she licked over the smooth skin on his left hand.

“She likes you.”

Michael looked up. Alex was standing in the doorway to what looked to be the kitchen, one shoulder leaned against the wood, a patterned brown mug in his hand. The color had returned to his skin, golden warm in the light of fireplace, and the remnants of blood had been cleared away, leaving him looking healthy and beautiful. He stood tall in a pair of jeans, brown boots, and long-sleeved blue plaid button down, and Michael felt the tug of _want_ as the last traces of his anxiety washed out in a wave of relief.

“She has good taste,” Michael replied smoothly, giving Stella another gentle pat and pressing his hands against his knees to stand.

Alex’s tongue flicked out across his lips and he looked away, jaw twitching. He glanced back at Michael and shook his head once before turning back into the kitchen, the mug _clinking_ onto the counter.

Alex was _furious_, Michael could feel it, could _see_ it. He was furious with _him,_ and he didn’t need to be a genius to figure out why. He’d seen the panic in Alex’s eyes, felt the horror and desperation, his helplessness and rage. Even if there was a part of Michael that still didn’t understand, that still doubted, that still remembered all the times Alex had walked away, he couldn’t deny what he’d been _feeling_, what _Alex_ felt for him.

Michael stepped forward, careful of where Stella was walking right in front of his feet, her claws clattering against the hardwood. He stopped at the doorway, leaning his right shoulder against the frame, and glanced carefully over at where Alex was braced against the counter, his back to Michael. His head hung between his shoulders, the knuckles of his hands white where he gripped the rounded, wooden edge, and his chest rose and fell with forced breaths.

“Look,” he started. “I know that was stupid and I’m sorry, but I-”

Alex whirled on him, eyes wide and dark with anger. “Stupid?! Are you _kidding_ me, Guerin? That wasn’t stupid.” He twitched his eyes at Michael, condescending and seething. “Stupid would have been you thinking you would ever walk out of there alive.” Michael’s eyebrows twitched and Alex’s nostrils flared in anger. “No, what you did was suicidal.”

“Alex, I-”

Alex pointed at him, voice loud and angry. “Don’t! Don’t you _dare_ try to justify it.” He shook his head and dropped his hand, chest heaving with the force of his breath. “Don’t for one second think I will _ever _forgive you for making me watch you put a gun to your own head.”

Michael stepped forward. “I was trying to sa-”

“No.” Alex shook his head again, eyes narrowing. “No, I know _exactly_ what you were trying to do. You were going to throw your life away because you think it’s worthless.” He swallowed, mouth twisting. “You think you’re worthless.”

Michael drew back, blinking, mouth dropped open at the blunt accusation, at the way it cut through him. He sniffed. “I could feel them _hurting _you, Alex,” Michael said, trying to make him understand. “I couldn’t let you _die._”

“And _what_ makes you think I’m _any _more capable of losing you?!” Alex’s voice boomed through the small cabin, the silence even louder in its wake. He licked at his lips in an angry jab and his breaths were harsh, filling the space between them.

Alex had never been good with words. Michael was used to reading his thoughts and feelings in other ways, through the way Alex touched his skin and kissed his lips, through the way Alex would come apart under his hands.

But even if Alex’s declaration hadn’t pierced through all his doubts, Michael could _feel _the hollow blackness of his fear of a world without Michael in it. He could feel it and he knew it, familiar like an old friend, a constant presence in his own life every time Alex had flown across the sea to fight other men’s wars. He could feel the cracks in Alex’s anger now, feel the tendrils of hurt and fear, and his own guilt burned low in his belly.

Stella whined and settled at Alex’s feet, pawing at his boot.

Michael dropped back on his heel and just stared at Alex, speechless, meeting the glare of his dark brown eyes. All of the breath, all of the fight, just washed right out of him in a shaky exhale that left him feeling cold.

“Dammit, Guerin, I’m just-” Alex cut off, huffing a breath. “I am _sick_ of asking you to live.”

“Don’t,” Michael said. He closed his eyes a moment, inhaling against the memories and shaking his head. “Don’t do that. That was _different_.” Alex _knew_ that was different, he’d been there, he’d _seen_ her.

Alex pressed his lips into a tight line, deflating a little on a sigh. Michael deflated too, falling back against the inside of the doorway and dropping his head. He just breathed through the grief for a moment, and remembered the way Alex had been there for him, had held him, had given him a moment of pause before they ran for their lives and left her behind. He remembered the way Alex had tried to reach out to him outside the prison and the way he’d flinched away. He remembered Alex being there when he came home, stepping forward and saying he wanted to fight his own battles, fight for _Michael_.

And he remembered the way Alex had looked at him, eyes wet with tears, bound and helpless as Michael tried to bargain away his life.

He turned to look back up at Alex, deep brown eyes shining in the fire light from the other room. “I’m _sorry_.”

Alex’s jaw clenched and he swallowed, holding Michael’s eyes. After a few breaths, he finally nodded and the anger started to leech away, bit by bit.

After a beat, Alex turned around, Stella hopping up with a bark and following him the two steps to the refrigerator. He pulled it open as Michael twisted his head around to watch him, brow furrowed. A clink of glass had Michael raising his eyebrows as Alex pulled out two beer bottles, the necks tucked between the fingers of his left hand. He let the door close and grabbed the bottle opener on the fridge, popping both open before turning around and stepping over to the table. He didn’t look at Michael, just pulled out the chair at the end and sat down, setting one of the bottles next to the seat closest to Michael and taking a swig of the other.

Michael swayed forward and pulled the chair out to the sound of wood scratching. “Does this mean my apology is accepted?” he asked tentatively, dropping into the seat and reaching for the beer.

“It means,” Alex started on an inhale, exhaling slowly before continuing, “that I need a beer.”

MIchael nodded, taking a long gulp, letting the cool drink wash down his throat. Stella tucked herself under the table, bumping up against Michael’s leg before dropping down with her butt on his foot. He wiggled his toes in his boot, enjoying the warm anchor of her, and leaned back in his chair, glancing around the kitchen. It was quaint, with its outdated appliances and colorful adornishments. Some of the doors to the cabinets hung lopsided on their hinges, and there was a dial missing on the stove that he itched to just get up and fix. The heat from the fireplace reached Michael in licks and flashes, tingling at the back of his neck above the collar of his jacket.

He took another drink before looking back to Alex to see him watching him. Their eyes met and the heat rose under Michael’s skin, the _need_. Alex was beautiful in the flickering firelight, the planes of his face bathed in gold, his dark eyes bright. They ticked down a moment and Michael _felt_ the pull of him, the _want_ \- and Michael wanted, too. He wanted to slide forward, wrap his hand around Alex’s neck and pull him closer, taste the beer on his lips, run his hand down the tight, corded muscles of Alex’s arms, wrap his fingers around Alex’s hips and _pull_. He wanted to touch and to feel and to let himself get lost in the passion of it, the heat of this _thing_ between them, whatever it was that made touching Alex feel like nothing else in the world. Like no one else.

Michael drained the bottle, eyes on Alex, trying to gather the courage to just _do something_, when Alex dropped his eyes and licked at his lips, looking down and away. It was bitter, the flash he got as he set his empty glass back on the table.

“Max and Isobel,” Alex started, not looking at Michael, “dropped off your truck while you were passed out. It’s parked out front.”

It was a clear dismissal and Michael felt a pang of rejection that he swallowed down. “Alex, I-”

“We don’t have to do this.” He took another drink, still not meeting Michael’s eyes. “And actually, I’d rather we didn’t.”

“What-” Michael started, lost for what to say.

“Maria called.” Michael’s mouth shut, heart thudding painfully as his eyes went wide. “_You_ didn’t. I can take a hint.” Alex took another swig of his beer, anger flaring again.

“_Fuck_. No, Alex.” Michael inhaled, scrambling to explain. “That wasn’t- it didn’t mean-”

Alex finally looked at him, head tilting. “Oh, are you going to tell me it didn’t mean anything? She said that, too. After the first time.”

Michael shook his head. “Don’t- don’t be mad at her. She doesn’t-”

“I’m not mad at _her_.” Michael could feel the lie and Alex paused, swallowing before continuing. “Whatever, Guerin. You don’t owe me anything. We’re not together. Never were.” He took another drink, finishing the bottle.

Michael nodded, a bitter smile spreading across his face and a flame of pain washing through his chest in an aching _thump_ at the truth of Alex’s words. All these years, everything they’d been through together, all the nights twined together, the cold mornings after - and it was all nothing more than moments.

“And whose decision was that, huh?” he asked. “How many times did you walk away when I asked you stay?” And he hated it, the sound of his voice cracking, the feeling of tears stinging in the corners of his eyes. He hated that even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t hide his pain from Alex, that even if they weren’t connected, it would always be written all over him. He was a walking _wound_ for Alex Manes and always had been.

Alex’s tongue pressed between his lips and his head was shaking. “I- that was never about-” Alex cut off, shoving back in the chair and standing, stepping away from the table. _“Dammit_, Guerin.”

Michael stood too, Stella hopping up with a yip and a tinkle of tags, and turned into the doorway, rubbing at his face. Michael could _feel_ it, the way his love and Alex’s were beating together in sync next to his heart. Alex had to feel it, too. The way it ached as they stepped apart, the tug and pull of the bond only exaggerating the way he always felt around Alex, the way he always wanted to be _closer_.

It was _stupid_, ridiculous, that they could _feel_ everything the other did, knew without a doubt how each other felt, the depth and sincerity of it, and they were still doing this. Stupid that Michael had gone and kissed a woman he knew he’d never _want_ like he wanted Alex. Stupid that Alex thought they could ever be _friends_. Stupid that they were standing here, trading barbs and stepping back, when every fiber was screaming at them to cross the space and put skin to skin.

Stella clicked past Michael into the living room and hopped up on the chair next to the fireplace, curling into a soft ball.

Michael spun back around and looked Alex in the eye. “You love me,” he accused. “Present tense.” Alex’s eyes twitched, face freezing as he tried not to react, even though Michael could feel the flash of fear. “And I love you,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice even and failing. “Always have.” Alex stayed frozen, watching him across the kitchen. Michael took a deep breath. “So what the _fuck_ are we doing?”

Alex’s jaw tensed, his teeth gritted together. He shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” he demanded. He stared at Alex, holding eye contact. Alex’s brow twitched and he swallowed, mouth opening and closing on a huff. Alex looked away, wetting his lips on a sharp breath, and Michael could feel his frustration, his irritation, but he refused to be the one that broke.

“Because it’s-” Alex stopped and started again, looking back up to Michael. “We can’t just-” Michael raised his eyebrows in question and Alex made a soft, angry noise at the back of his throat. He shook his head and Michael felt the decision _click_ in the moment before Alex moved.

It was like gravity, like the force that moved planets, dragged comets across the sky, and sent galaxies careening towards one another into epic, wild collisions of color and fire; Michael stood no chance. Alex moved and Michael mirrored, helpless to the pull. They slammed together in the middle, the corner of the table digging into Michael’s thigh, Alex’s fingers digging into his hair and his hip, his tongue digging into Michael’s mouth, and Michael felt full for the first time in months.

Their bond thrummed contentedly inside him, inside _them_, a combined force swelling and expanding now that they were finally touching each other with intent. All Michael could feel, all that he knew, was how much he loved Alex. How much Alex loved him.

“Guerin, I-” Alex sighed out against his lips, cutting off as the line between his brows grew thick.

“I know,” Michael replied, pressing closer, sliding his hand up into Alex’s hair to drag him back in. And he _did_ know, he could almost touch the feeling of it, tangible and heavy, sliding like honey, sweet and thick, through his lungs, beating in time to the staccato of his heart.

Michael’s jacket hit the floor, followed quickly by their shirts and belts and- Michael stopped. Alex reached to pull him flush, kiss at his jaw like he was hungry, like he couldn’t get enough, but Michael was fixated, reaching for the shimmer of color on Alex’s shoulder. He dropped his right hand onto Alex’s hip, feeling Alex’s fingers tangle in his hair and slide hot and solid down his back, and he stretched a careful finger to the mark, not quite touching.

Alex pulled back, looking between Michael’s face and his own shoulder. Michael met his gaze, eyes wide with fascination.

“I didn’t,” he started, licking his lips. “I didn’t know, didn’t realize until-” He swallowed, chest dropping on an exhale. “Until they hurt you.”

Alex’s eyebrows pinched together, head tilting slightly. “You couldn’t feel it? Liz said-”

Michael’s head cocked, trying to put it in words as he looked back down at the mark, _his_ mark. “No, I could, I _do_. It just... I just felt like I was thinking about you all the time.”

“And you didn’t think that was strange?”

Michael shook his head, looking back up, shrugging. “No.” It was the truth; he’d felt frustrated, he’d wished away the pain of it, but Michael had been thinking about Alex _all the time_ for over ten years. Alex’s shoulders dropped at the statement, face going soft. “Can I?” Michael asked, fingers twitching, hovering over the fading handprint.

Alex nodded, and Michael let his hand slide flat against the multi-colored skin.

He gasped with it, Alex gasped, too, fingers squeezing in Michael’s hair; it was an explosion of lightning in their chests, the crackle of energy through every vein, the way their connection flared and shivered vibrantly at the touch. Alex’s forehead dropped onto his, eyes dropping closed as they both held on, let the sensations roll through them. Years of passion and pain and want and guilt and joy and rejection and heartbreak and desperate, all-consuming, _aching_ love slammed through them all at once, swirling and flowing like a boiling pot.

Everything slowed down, everything stilled, everything went quiet until it was just this, this moment of the two of them. This was it. This was all that mattered. This was happiness; just an endless, tethered moment with Alex.

Alex’s lips parted as he looked up, eyes meeting Michael’s, more open than he’d ever seen them, as vulnerable as Michael felt. Alex was splayed open for Michael, and he for him, laid out bare and raw - but there was no fear in this moment, only love, only Michael and Alex, together and finally, _finally_ on the same page.

A moan hummed against his chest and he couldn’t say whose it was, couldn’t say where he ended and Alex began. He couldn’t just _feel_ Alex, he could _taste_ him, _smell_ him, heard nothing but his heartbeat and saw nothing but bright, russet brown eyes.

“Alex.” It was hardly a whisper, barely more than a breath rolling across his tongue, barely a shadow of what he wanted, what he _needed_, but Alex nodded, throat _click_ing as he swallowed. He knew.

Alex’s eyes dropped down and he tilted forward, catching Michael’s lips, and Michael’s eyes fluttered at the rush, at how _good_ it felt, at how _right_. He sighed into Alex’s mouth, a soft whimper that curled around Alex’s tongue like a caress, and he felt Alex’s contentment, felt the bliss and liberation Alex was feeling, felt his satisfaction. Alex’s hand slid from Michael’s back around to his side, a firm pressure as it rolled across his shoulder and down his arm, and Michael flinched as he realized Alex’s intent, hand pulling away from the mark, the swirl of vibrant sensations dropping down into a dull roar at the lost contact.

Alex drew back, breaking the kiss to look at him, brow furrowed in confusion. Michael looked down and Alex followed his eyes to where Michael was clenching his fist, the swirl of glittering, shimmering skin stretching over his joints.

The smooth skin, the unmarred knuckles stared back at him like a judgement, like personal failure. He felt _shame_ and anger and regret - he hadn’t wanted this. The scars weren’t just a reminder to be careful, they were a reminder of _Alex_, a memory of that moment, a physical tribute to what he would sacrifice for him, to what they went through together, to what they _survived_. Those marks connected them and now they’d been erased, stolen-

Alex’s hand was there, slipping over Michael’s, thumb sliding into the crease of Michael’s fist to straighten his fingers, and it felt like a weight being lifted. Alex was soothing over the skin and he was _relieved_. Michael looked back to him, swallowing, confused.

“Max,” he started to explain, at a loss for how to continue. He licked at his lips, dropping his eyes. He hadn’t _wanted_ it, he’d said _no_.

The hand in his hair slid forward, cupping his chin, tilting it up until Michael looked at him, saw the shadow of a smile settle gently on Alex’s face. “Good.” He nodded with it, rubbing across the fingers with reverence. Michael relaxed, like a tension being cut, an anxiety washed away in the face of Alex’s approval.

Alex laced their fingers and stepped into Michael’s space, pulling him forward at the chin to kiss him again. And _god_, it was ecstasy, this quiet, the way everything else drowned out in the feeling of Alex’s lips on his; Michael was addicted.

They were naked by the time they made it to the couch, both craving _skin_ \- boots kicked off, jeans tugged from ankles, underwear pulled down - and not once did they stop touching. Alex pressed forward until Michael was dropping on the couch, making room for Alex between his thighs, breath catching as the cool metal of Alex’s leg pressed against his ankle, a contrast to the heat of the room, to the heat of _them_.

They slipped together, Alex gently smoothing across Michael’s skin from jaw to hip with light fingers, eyes watching Michael’s, and he was caught in the intense stare. This was Michael’s favorite place in the world, pinned beneath Alex’s hungry eyes, all of Alex’s attention fixated on him. This was the only place he felt special, felt deserving, felt _worthy _of such regard, and he forced himself not to shrink back from it, to let Alex have his fill.

There was a scrape of wood and the pop of a cap and then the feeling of slick, tight pressure, and Michael pressed up to bury his moan against Alex’s lips, fingers lost in the soft slip of Alex’s hair at his nape as he adjusted. Alex kissed him back, easing him open as he pressed, hard and hot, against the inside of Michael’s thigh, and Michael wanted, he _needed_, he felt _so close_ to complete and he knew what was missing.

Michael dropped back against the pillow, hips pushing against Alex’s fingers. “Alex,” he croaked, nodding.

Alex’s eyes flashed, going wide as a smirk tugged at his cheek. Michael was empty for only a moment, foil ripping through the silence, before Alex covered him, strong hand sliding under Michael’s thigh to hitch his knee up over Alex’s hip, warm heat pressing where he needed it most, pressing _in_. Michael reached up, palm pressing flat against the glowing skin of Alex’s shoulder, braced for the cascade of Alex, eyes held wide against the flood so he could watch the way it surged through Alex, the way he threw his head back, the way the firelight danced across his skin.

Every sensation swept through Michael twice, slightly off center, his own pleasure followed by the vibrant echo of Alex’s. It was overwhelming, he was gasping in stuttered breaths, his back arching, body alight, fingers clenching and grasping at Alex’s skin. He bit at his lips, trying futilely to quell the litany of noises bubbling up from his throat. Alex looked stunning, muscles sharp in the light, mouth dropped open, lips full and expression blissed out as his eyelids fought the urge to close, fought to keep his eyes on Michael.

It was hours, it was seconds before the swell of heat sitting low in his belly _burst_, sending out a torrent of sensation, making him cry out, eyes closing as he rode it out, lost in the waves. He’d almost worked his way back to himself when it crashed through him again, Alex’s release just as potent as his own, just as consuming.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, Alex was nestled atop him, tucked along his left side against the back of the couch, head rested against his shoulder and fingers playing absently with the hair across Michael’s chest and at his nape. There was a blanket draped over top of them, the mess cleared away, and Michael’s arm was wrapped loosely around Alex’s back. He made a soft noise of contentment at the sight, hand sliding up Alex’s back, the blanket smooth against his knuckles, and Alex’s cheek rubbed against his skin as he turned to meet Michael’s eyes. He looked so _fucking_ pretty, heavy-eyed and lambent in the dark cabin, and Michael had to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Alex replied, voice warm as a sleepy smile spread across his face.

Michael wanted to smile in return, but he felt himself bracing instinctually, preparing for that inevitable moment when Alex would close off, shut down, and pull away. It happened every time like clockwork, and Michael knew this time would be no different. He knew that Alex loved him, could feel it even now, but Alex had always loved him; love had never been the problem.

Brow furrowing, Alex reached up, cupping Michael’s jaw and rubbing his thumb across Michael’s cheek in a gentle arc. The touch was so _achingly_ tender and Michael leaned into it, eyelids quivering even as his heart thumped painfully at the thought of losing this again.

Alex’s mouth popped open, but before he could say anything, a clatter of claws had them both lifting their heads and turning to watch Stella plod her way toward them, tags tinkling together. She paused at Michael’s elbow, licking at it before hopping up, landing on the crease of Michael’s thigh, claws only barely dulled by the blanket.

“_Oooooof_.” A breath punched out of him as Alex huffed a laugh, head dropping back onto Michael. Stella squeezed herself into a ball on Michael’s thigh, leaned heavily into Alex’s, and went right back to sleep. Michael snorted softly and dropped back against the pillow, rolling his head over to look back at Alex, his hand still hot against Michael’s cheek, their faces barely an inch apart.

Everything about this moment was perfect, and all Michael wanted was to cherish it, to stretch it out and make it last. He knew he’d eventually see Alex’s eyes shutter, and he’d have to get up, pull on his clothes and boots, and walk out into the cold. But right now, he was warm, so he rubbed his hand up and down Alex’s back, brought his other hand to stroke along Alex’s bicep, and soaked in the feeling of Alex’s hands on him, tangled in his hair and holding his face like it was something precious, like _he_ was something precious.

A shadow of uncertainty flashed across Alex’s face and Michael had to suppress a bitter nod, hands stilling. Alex’s mouth opened and closed and he took a breath, swallowing, like he was trying to find the words. Michael had a second to wonder why it was so hard - he’d said them so many times before - when Alex’s hand tightened at Michael’s cheek, holding firm.

“Guerin, I-” Alex stopped, tongue pressing pink between the red of his lips. His eyes ticked down to Michael’s mouth and Michael knew, could _feel_, how much Alex wanted to kiss away this moment, to touch and distract and evade. It was his MO and the urge to fall back into old patterns was palpable, but Alex looked back up again, mouth parting around another unspoken attempt before he suddenly moved, hand sliding from Michael’s hair as his elbow shifted out from under Michael’s shoulder so he could prop up, hover over him. A thick line grew between Alex’s eyebrows and his mouth pursed, shoulders tensing as he struggled with what to say, but Michael could feel it, the fear and the anxiety and the frustration at himself.

But beneath all of that, hidden away like Alex was afraid to admit to it, Michael could sense a little coil of _hope_. It was barely a glimmer, so subtle he almost believed it was his own, but it was _there_, he was _sure_ of it.

Alex had never been good with words. Michael knew that, had always known that. It had been true when they were seventeen and innocent and taking off each other’s clothes between delighted giggles, and it had been true when they were twenty-three and terrified and incapable of keeping their hands and tongues from leaving bruises, and it had been true when they were twenty-seven and raw and trying desperately to hide the pain behind barbed words. Every time Alex reached for Michael’s hip or slid his hand into Michael’s hair, Michael knew was Alex was feeling, what he wanted. But right now, he needed to know what Alex had _decided_. Right now, he needed the words, he needed to hear Alex say it.

Michael looked back and forth between Alex’s eyes, longing to believe he might be right. “Tell me to stay,” he whispered.

The tension dropped from Alex’s shoulders on a breath and relief washed through him, through them. His thumb resumed its slow glide across Michael’s cheek and that soft smile reappeared.

“_Please_ stay.”

* * *

Peace had always been more a strategic concept for Alex than anything resembling an attainable reality. “Peace” was the moments growing up when his father was away and Alex had nothing to fear from being at home. “Peace” was what the Air Force told him they were fighting for while ordering him to destroy it. “Peace” was the logical progressions of numbers and codes on his computer screen that he could get lost in when real life stopped making any sense. “Peace” was relative, it was fleeting, and it was limited.

But right now, peace was sleeping next to him in the glow of early dawn filtering through the remaining functional window in his bedroom. Peace was the gentle rise and fall of breath and the twist of curl against the pillow. Peace was the warm bundle tucked in the space his leg used to be.

Alex looked down to the end of the bed where Stella was snoozing on her side atop the blankets and tried to summon up the energy to be irritated, but quickly gave up and let his head settle back against his elbow. Michael was stretched out on his back, covers shoved down to his hips, and Alex just stared. It had been three days of this, three days of falling asleep tangled up in his arms and three days of waking up to the sight of him, tranquil and warm and so _fucking_ beautiful that it brought a lump to Alex’s throat. Three days and he still wasn’t used to it, didn’t think he ever would be.

The glimmering handprints on Michael’s neck and hands had faded soon after the one on Alex’s shoulder. He’d lost the one on his palm first, and Alex had felt the grief of it like a lead weight, weighing them both down in the late afternoon. He’d found Michael out at the old Foster Ranch at sunset, leaned back on his palms and staring up at the dark side of the sky as the first stars started to appear. He hadn’t looked over as Alex approached, hadn’t reacted when Alex sat down behind him, pulling Michael back into his chest, but a moment later, he’d spoken.

“I used to come out here to wait for her.”

Alex had nodded against the side of Michael’s face, chin tucked against his shoulder. They’d stayed out there until their breath was white and their hands numb. The grief had been no less heavy as they drove back to Alex’s cabin, but Alex had felt the minute flashes of Michael’s relief every time he glanced in his rearview mirror to see Alex following behind him.

Now, rested and content, tucked into the small bedroom of Alex’s cabin, Michael’s skin was all his own, unmarked and radiant in the gentle morning light. Alex felt the heat rise under his own skin and he wanted to touch, to _taste_. He didn’t want to stop himself. He didn’t have to.

He reached out, pushing up and forward so he could press his lips to the warm flesh of his chest, run his fingers down the hair across his stomach. It was easier in the mornings, quiet and soft like this, for Alex to be bold, to give in to his desires, to take what he wanted and not be afraid of wanting it.

Alex let his tongue lave over the nub of Michael’s nipple, feeling it harden as Michael stirred with a soft whine.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled with a soft smile as he drew his hand slowly up Alex’s spine, making him arch into Michael.

Alex hummed against Michael’s chest, kissing his way up to Michael’s mouth, shifting to get more leverage as he pressed his lips to Michael’s. He felt the way it _clicked_ into place in his chest, like all was right in the world when Michael lips were against his. In this moment, there weren’t multiple conspiracies waiting for him to unravel, or an escaped kidnapper, or a sadistic father locked in a makeshift cell in a secret bunker. There was just him and Michael, slotting together like they _fit_, like they _belonged_.

There was an edge to the ecstasy, flashes of doubt and fear filtering from Michael. It always seeped in in moments like this, soft moments when the afterglow started to fade, when the sun rose gentle and warm and Michael woke to find Alex beside him. The anxiety would crawl across his skin, wondering how Alex was going to leave him this time.

Alex had come to expect it, was prepared for it. He’d caused it, over years and repeated mistakes he’d once thought he was doomed to relive over and over for the rest of his life. He didn’t think that anymore, _refused _to believe it. He was sick of walking away and he was going to prove that to Michael. It wouldn’t happen overnight, he couldn’t heal the hurt with one word or one kiss, not with ten. He knew that. He knew it was going to take months and years of Alex holding him as he fell asleep, of being there when he woke up. He would prove it to Michael one day at a time for the rest of forever, if that’s what it took.

Stella yelped as Michael’s leg shifted underneath her back legs, scooting up the bed with a glare at them both. She wasn’t hurt - just dramatic - and Alex lifted up to level Michael with an attempt at a hard glare that was probably lost to how utterly gorgeous he looked in that moment, eyebrows raised as he waited for Alex’s pique.

“That wouldn’t happen if she was still in her crate,” he said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Michael’s mouth.

“Mmm, she was lonely.”

“She was _fine_.” Alex licked hot and demanding into Michael’s mouth, loving the way Michael let him in, the way he pressed up to chase Alex as he pulled off. “I told you to stop letting her out.”

“You told me to stop _getting up_ to let her out,” Michael corrected, hand sliding into Alex’s hair. “I did no such-

Michael cut off on a sharp inhale as Alex sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and _bit_, smirking at the way his eyes went half-lidded with lust. He ducked down, purring against the shell of Michael’s ear. “You _cheated_.” He slid his tongue around the curve and blew out a breath against the shine of wet skin. Michael shivered beneath him on a shaky exhale.

With a grunt, Michael pushed up, twisting to deposit Alex on his back and swing his leg over Alex’s hips. Their legs tangled together under the blankets and Stella barked, getting up to crawl over to the corner of the bed and out of the way of shifting limbs. Michael settled on top of Alex, a hungry look in his eye, hard through the cloth of his underwear against the crease of Alex’s thigh. He ducked down, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to the shimmer of color at Alex’s sternum, and Alex lifted up on a gasp, pressing into the swell of emotions and memories that surged through him. It was less of a shock than the first time, but still no less overwhelming.

Michael had gotten in the habit of touching both the handprints on his skin distractedly in the days since he’d left them. Resting his hand against Alex’s nape while sitting at Isobel’s house for a family dinner, letting his fingers sneak up until they reached the edges of the color hidden beneath his hair at the crown of his head. Coming up behind Alex in the kitchen and wrapping around him, sliding his hand up under Alex’s shirt until he felt Alex bow into the sensations. It was almost thoughtless, the way his hands found the marks, like they were drawn there by some kind of magnetism, by something Alex couldn’t feel and he was sure Michael didn’t totally understand.

He pulled back, rising up Alex’s body so he could catch his lips, rolling his hips against Alex’s. Alex groaned, mirroring the motion, and they moved together until they were more panting into each other’s mouths than actually kissing. Michael reached down, slipped his hand under the waistband of Alex’s underwear to wrap around him, rub his thumb where Alex was slick to draw a hiss through his teeth.

“Guerin,” Alex growled, wrapping his hand tight around Michael’s bicep, eyes surely blown as wide as Michael’s. He was too warm, the touch of Michael’s skin was _burning_, heat making his skin feel tight, and _god_ how he wanted more, _needed_ to be so enveloped in Michael’s body that he could get lost in the flames.

Michael chuckled, drawing Alex in for another kiss as his fingers wrapped tight and his wrist rotated, sliding down and making Alex’s hips jerk up with another growl. He pulled off, waistband snapping lightly as his hand slipped free and Alex _whined_ at the loss, eyes opening to see Michael bracing against the bed so he could reach for the drawer of the nightstand.

His eyes dropped down and a crease formed between his eyebrows, head tilting slightly. His movements slowed, a flash of confusion reaching Alex, and he dropped his hands onto Michael’s hips, anchoring him through whatever thought had slithered, insidious and menacing, into his mind. But then Michael was pulling away from him entirely, slipping onto the floor with a _thud_.

“Guerin, what are you-” Alex followed his line of sight and froze when he realized what Michael had seen. He was kneeling on the floor, dragging Alex’s backpack toward him, eyes fixed on the flash of shimmering purple glass showing through the open zipper.

_Shit_.

Alex was so _stupid_.

There had been a proximity alert at the bunker late the night before and he’d brought his computer to bed to check the cameras. It was just a jackrabbit, and Michael had been doing _that thing_ with his tongue at the hinge of Alex’s jaw. He’d been distracted, hurried, hadn’t taken the time to close his backpack after shoving the laptop case inside so he could give Michael the attention he’d been demanding.

It was stupid and careless. Michael wasn’t supposed to find out this way.

Alex sat up in the bed, leaning on his elbow as he reached to stop Michael. “Guerin, no, wait. I can-”

Michael ignored him, pulling the flaps of the backpack apart to reveal more of the piece of alien shipwreck, reaching inside to pull it out. The glass shimmered and shifted under Michael’s fingers and his eyes were wide when they turned to Alex. Alex couldn’t feel anything but his own terror, couldn’t get a read on Michael, like he’d just entirely shut down. He was still there, present and settled in Alex’s chest, but it was like he’d gone cold.

“Where did you get this?” Michael asked, voice monotone. It sent a chill through Alex.

“Let me explain-”

“How long have you had this?” Alex licked his lips; there was no good answer to that question. “Alex,” Michael pressed, voice hard. Anger was starting to crack through their bond and Alex wasn’t sure if he should be relieved. “How long?”

Alex shifted, moving back the covers. Stella lifted her head, rolling so her paws were under her head, pouting at them. “A few months,” he said quickly. “But would you just-”

Michael stood then, turning away from Alex and stepping away from the bed, the piece gripped tight in his right hand. “_Months_? When were you gonna tell me, huh?”

“Guerin.” Alex pushed up, swinging his leg out so he could sit up.

“Why haven’t you told me? God, you _knew_.” He was pacing around the end of the bed, not looking at Alex, not listening to him.

“Guerin_._” Alex tried to reach out to grab his hand but he was just out of reach in the small room.

“You’re the _only one_ who knows. I’ve spent my entire life working on this and you _knew_ that.” He was tugging at his curls with his free hand, betrayal and anger rising, eating at Alex’s guilt.

“_Guerin_.”

His crutches were on the other side of the bed and he was _stuck_, frustration burning hot in his chest. He wanted to pull Michael into his arms, wanted to lace their fingers and kiss the anxiety from his forehead, but he couldn’t even _stand_.

Michael continued ignoring him, mostly talking to himself, shaking his head as he paced back and forth. “God, I should have known. It’s always something with you, isn’t it? We can’t just be _us_, there’s always-”

“_Michael_!”

That finally made him stop, made him finally _look_ at Alex, eyes wide and chest heaving up and down. Alex made a frustrated noise, deep in his throat, and braced his arm against the bed, pushing off the floor with his foot to scoot down the edge of the bed so he could reach Michael. He caught his hand, twining their fingers in a firm grasp and ignoring the twitch of hesitation in Michael’s fingers. He pulled Michael toward him, settling a hand on his hip and his knees on either side of Michael’s thighs. It was easier when Alex was touching him, easier to think, to figure out what to say. He swallowed, looking up to Michael’s eyes, heart twinging at the pain there.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He took a breath. Michael was just staring down at him, curls dropping loose around his face, his knuckles white around the ship piece held at his side, breath too heavy, shoulders too tight. Alex wanted to run his hands over them, squeeze and ease the tension away until Michael was loose and pliant in his arms, but this wasn’t about what Alex wanted. It was about what Michael _needed_ and right now, it was an explanation. “I just… you said you were going to _leave_ and I- I couldn’t let that happen.”

Michael pulled his hand from Alex’s, brow furrowing. “So you just lied to me?” Alex wrapped his free hand around Michael’s hip, holding firm so he wouldn’t pull away again. “What else are you hiding from me?”

“_Nothing_, I’m not-”

“How am I supposed to trust-”

“Guerin,” Alex cut in. He licked his lips, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his nose. “_Michael_. I should have told you. I’m sorry.” He squeezed his hands on the words, hoping Michael could feel his sincerity, his remorse.

“Why didn’t you?”

Alex swallowed, forcing himself to say the words, whatever it took to make Michael stop looking at him like that. “I was _scared_.” The word burned its way up Alex’s throat, hot and barbed. It felt like a weakness, it felt like _shame_.

Jaw tensing, Michael huffed out a breath through his nose. He rolled his lips over his teeth as his tongue pressed out to wet them, all the while just staring at Alex.

Alex licked his lips, pushing on. “I told you, I _can’t_ lose you.”

Michael shook his head, tilted in a way that Alex recognized, in a way that meant Michael thought Alex was being ridiculous.

“Jesus, Alex. You really are an idiot.” He pulled away from Alex, twisted out of his grip and stepped out of reach, turning his back to Alex and bringing the ship piece up into both hands, watching the way it reacted to him. Alex’s hands dropped into his lap on a breath, skin feeling chilled where he’d been touching Michael, eyebrows pinching together at Michael’s words.

“I-”

Michael spun back around, cutting him off, waving the piece toward him in one hand. “D’ya know, I’ve been working on this since I was a kid.” He dropped his arm, the piece hanging at his side against his bare thigh. Alex was watching him, trying to make sense of what Michael was saying, what he was _feeling_. “I was sketching ship plans in my notebooks during class and researching thermodynamics in the library after school. I found my first pieces when I was sixteen, dug ‘em up out at the ranch when I was out there at night. I got sick of waiting. I figured, if they weren’t gonna come to me, I’d go to them.

“Max and Isobel were fine, they’d adjusted alright, they had a family and a future and each other.” Michael shrugged. “I didn’t have that. I didn’t have anything or anyone holding me here, and I thought that if there was even a _chance_ that my family might be out there?” Michael paused, shaking his head a little. “I had to take it.”

He stepped to the side, setting the piece on the nightstand with a _clink_, still talking, looking around the room, at the walls, the floor, Stella - anything but Alex. Alex _longed_ to reach him, to slide his hands across the bare skin of his torso, down the backs of his thighs, to distract him with kisses and erase this moment so Alex didn’t feel so _powerless_.

“I started applying to colleges, to scholarships. For the first time, I actually felt like I had a purpose, like I wasn’t just surviving everything the people on this planet had put me through. I was going to _escape_ it.”

Michael stopped, taking a breath and finally meeting Alex’s eyes. “And then I met you.” His voice broke and Alex swallowed, heart thumping so loud he was sure Michael must hear it.

“And you,” Michael started again, shoulders lifting before they dropped again. “You changed everything.” He stepped forward, still out of reach. “_You_ made me want to stay. You made me believe there was a place for me _here_. With you.” His voice was light and Alex exhaled, chest dropping, knowing what came next. “And then you _left_.”

“Guerin-”

“So yeah, I built the fucking console,” Michael said, voice going hard. “I drew up plans for a ship that could fly it and I was gonna take off to the other end of the galaxy. Because the only thing worse than living on this planet was living on it in the void you left behind.”

“I ne-”

Michael wasn’t done, stepping closer again. “You say you can’t lose me, but Alex, I lost you _so many_ times. Again and again. Until I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Alex licked at his lips, remembering that night, remembering the look of bitter disappointment in Michael’s eyes. _“Next time, I won’t be here waiting for you_.” The door had slammed in his face and Alex had thought it was finally over.

“I’d lost hope,” Michael continued. “That we were ever gonna make this work. That you would ever _stay_. And I couldn’t watch you walk away again. Didn’t think I’d survive it.”

Tucking his tongue against his teeth, Michael looked away. “Almost didn’t, the day I got the news about your accident. Almost blew up the Pony that night.” He looked back to Alex. “I’ve never regretted anything more than that, knowing I’d turned you away before-” Alex felt a pang of _hurt_ as Michael closed his eyes, breathing for a moment before opening them again. “I thought I couldn’t watch you walk away again, but it turned out that didn’t even _compare_ to thinking I might never _see _you again.”

He swallowed. “So if there is even a _slight _chance that I can be with you for real? That I can have this?” He gestured around the cabin, arms dropped as he looked back to Alex. “Have _you_? _Fuck_, Alex, I’ll drop a bomb in that bunker and hold your hand while it burns.”

He took another step forward and Alex could finally reach out, pull Michael back between his thighs, hands gripping wide around Michael’s ribcage, elbows tucked against his hips.

“You _have_ me,” he stressed. The words weren’t _right_, weren’t _enough_, they weren’t exactly what Alex wanted to say, so he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Michael’s abdomen and leaning his forehead there, breathing in the scent of his body, hoping Michael understood.

His hands settled on either side of Alex’s face, pulling him away and tilting up until he was looking back up at Michael, struck through with a bolt of _want_ at the sight of him tall and soft.

“Then I’m not going anywhere.” He bent to press a kiss to Alex’s lips and Alex was flooded with relief, with the divine feeling of Michael’s lips on his, with the peace they brought.

But Michael pulled back too soon, still holding Alex’s face. “But you can’t fucking lie to me, Alex. Not anymore. I told you, I’m sick of secrets.”

Inhaling, Alex nodded. “Okay,” he agreed easily. “No more secrets.”

Michael licked at his lips, head bobbing in reply, making his curls shift in the light from the window. Alex’s hands slid around Michael’s back, pulling him flush against his chest, and Michael’s hands followed suit, wrapping around Alex’s shoulders. Alex lay his cheek against Michael’s sternum and just breathed for a moment as they held each other, the fear and guilt finally leeching away as Alex soaked in the feeling of Michael’s warm skin.

Something wet and warm slid against Alex’s back and he jolted in surprise, the moment breaking. Michael huffed a laugh from above him and leaned into Alex so he could reach Stella behind him and Alex turned to see him scratching her ears, feeling a wash of fondness from Michael, feeling how much he already adored her. His own fondness filled his chest like honey, sweet and warm and spreading slow and thick through his veins. Stella nudged up under Alex’s arm, pressing warm and heavy against his side and licking at Michael’s stomach, making the muscles there _clench_ as he huffed again. Alex dropped his arm to wrap around her, holding her and Michael close.

It was perfect, this moment with the two of them. It felt so intimate, so _domestic_.

Michael’s hand slipped into his hair, pulled his face back against his chest, fingers edging up slowly until Alex gasped against his skin, everything between them going clear and bright. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, the way Michael’s love for him felt tangible and heavy and _real_, undeniable to even his darkest fears. It muffled all the noise, drowned out the voices telling him this was wrong, that he couldn’t have it, that Michael would never be able to love him the way he needed, that he would never be enough for Michael even if he could. All of that was swept away in a current of Michael’s devotion, near worshipful in the way he was touching Alex, deliberate and reverent.

Alex could stay like this forever.

Eventually, Stella got bored, hopping down off the bed and heading into her crate to grab her bone, gnawing on it noisily. Alex propped his chin against Michael’s breastplate, staring up at him, the heat rising when Michael met his eyes. It was always like this with them, always this _heat_, this passion under his skin just waiting for _that look_ in Michael’s eyes to set it ablaze, burning through him like wildfire. He felt Michael begin to harden against his belly and he smirked.

In one quick motion, Alex wrapped his ankle around Michael’s and knocked him off-balance, spinning to deposit him with a _flop_ against the sheets. Alex straddled his thighs, propping up on his elbow next to Michael’s chest and cupping his jaw with the other hand, letting his thumb slide across Michael’s mouth. His bottom lip dropped open on an exhale, warm and wet against Alex’s skin, a look of pure ecstasy in his eyes that shot right through Alex, settling hot and tight low in Alex’s belly. He rolled his hips, sliding his hand into Michael’s curls and bending down to press a kiss to his lips, quick and filthy.

Alex pulled back, grinning at the _twitch_ of Michael’s erection against his own. “Now, where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading 😊


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